


we could be lifted;

by maidenstar



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Curse, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: If there’s one thing Nicole Haught can say about her life right now, it’s that she’s not exactly living the dream.Or, at least, she’s not really living her own dream.For all she knows, working the security for a small inner-city museum might besomeone’sdream, but it certainly isn’t hers.When Nicole Haught takes a job with a security company, her main concern is finding a way to fund her Police Academy classes. Still, she had been hoping for something alittlemore thrilling than patrol in a tiny (and chilly) city museum where she spends her days pacing empty rooms and expecting absolutely nothing exciting to happen. That is, until she finally meets the museum's new curator and suddenly the little museum gets a whole lot more interesting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiskey_business](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_business/gifts).



> oh, hey. look at me venturing back into the world of fanfic because i apparently can’t keep away anymore. before i do anything else, i want to say a massive, massive thank you for the incredible and genuinely unexpected response to my first wayhaught fic, i’ll spread my wings (and i’ll learn how to fly). i really mean it when i say i wasn’t expecting any kind of positive reaction since it had been so damn long since i’d written a fanfic, let alone the kindness i received. i fully intended to reply directly to every person who reviewed, but i am a human disaster so. that didn’t happen. instead, i hope this will suffice as a more general thank you to everyone who left reviews - you seriously kept me writing the fic (and all the ones i’ve been working on since). 
> 
> so anyway, in one review on that fic, someone told me that they had a soft spot for an au in which waverly is a curator and nicole is a museum guard. full credit for this setting therefore goes to you, [whiskey_business](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_business/pseuds/whiskey_business). i hope this attempt does your wonderful headcanon even a small amount of justice because i fell in love with it the moment i read your review.
> 
> but, just quickly, before i get onto the fic itself, i need to make a disclaimer. it is that this actually turned out kind of like my other fic in some ways, mostly on the basis of it being gratuitous meet-cute au fluff. i’m not super thrilled about the similarities but any rewrite just felt flat to me, so i’ve somewhat nervously decided to post this as-is. partly i blame the fact that i can’t seem to write a short piece to save my life these days. in fact, anyone who follows me on twitter may have seen my usual battle against my lack of ability to practice brevity in my writing. i always lose said battle and it usually looks like this –  
>  _me to me: write a neat little <10k oneshot of this idea_  
> me, a week later: [crying blood as i hit 12k before i’m even halfway through, finally conceding defeat and splitting the ‘oneshot’ into chapters]
> 
> so yes. that is also what happened here. this was meant to be a short wee oneshot and it actually kind of just…got long and convoluted and it then turned out a bit like my last wayhaught fic. i’m really sorry about that and really nervous about putting this fic out there as a result. (to be fair, i’d be a ball of anxiety anyway, but it really doesn’t help). as ever, please be gentle with me, and i would love to hear any and all constructive criticism so if you have a spare moment, please drop me a line below. anyway, if anyone’s still here then i hope you enjoy this second instalment of gratuitous fluff.

If there’s one thing Nicole Haught can say about her life right now, it’s that she’s not exactly living the dream.

Or, at least, she’s not really living her own dream.

For all she knows, working the security for a small inner-city museum might be _someone’s_ dream, but it certainly isn’t hers.

What’s more, she’d like to meet the person who dreams of spending their days pacing round the same, extremely limited, warren of rooms, watching as other people stare into display cases with varying degrees of concentration.

Because there is really no way that Nicole can overstate the compact nature of the place. The one-person curating team really does have quite the space constraints when it comes to displaying the history of the American Frontier.

(This is decidedly not a period of history that Nicole can say she finds especially exciting). 

The bulk of the exhibits are contained within one large space - the Beaumont Room - which has been so recently redecorated that, on her first day, Nicole fancies she can still detect that fresh paint smell in the air.

The powers that be have made the best of the space - Nicole will give them that. Primarily, they've used it to begin a chronological journey through the past - taking visitors on a walking tour through history. The discerning visitor can weave around Beaumont, exiting through a modest wooden door to the Worthington Room which is about half the size but far more modern and interactive thanks to looping video feeds and a wallpapered frontier “wall” which people can decorate as they wish.

(Worthington is easily Nicole’s least favourite room - the video feeds last only about 5 minutes each, meaning that Nicole can now recite every video, in its entirety, in her sleep. And frequently, she does - talk about taking your work home with you).

Worthington leads to Rothchild, and Rothchild to Harper - named for a veritable tetrad of WASPy-sounding museum patrons from, Nicole would guess, the early 1900s at least.

Each of the rooms grows increasingly smaller as the exhibitions progress, meaning a need for traffic control if the museum gets remotely busy - probably the most involved part of Nicole’s day. Other than that, her work mostly consists of prowling from room to room as she sees fit, or keeping watch on the door or ticket desk depending on how the other security guard - a part timer - is fixed on any given day.

It is a wash, rinse, and repeat situation for five excruciatingly long days each week.

Still, it would be unfair to imply that the job itself is inherently bad because, if Nicole is being fair, it does have more positive points than it does negative ones. It’s something she can fit around her training, and it’s always pretty laid back - none of the regular employees get on her back if she stops to grab a snack or check her class’ group chat once every so often. The security agency has other, much worse, places on their books to which she could have been assigned (although she does wonder if she was passed over for them as a female employee - one of the few on the roster).

But, most importantly, the work is a solid source of income.

At this moment in time, she needs the money almost more than she needs air - especially given that there isn’t really anyone else around to help her out if she finds herself in a tight spot.

In fact, she’s pretty much been on her own since she was eighteen and her mom walked in on her and Harriet Lucksall with their hands up each other’s shirts, furiously making out on her childhood twin bed.

Even though it wasn’t the first time she’d been caught with a girl, it _was_ the first time her parents hadn’t been able to dismiss it as some kind of pre-teen confusion. (A much more chaste, closed-mouth kiss with her childhood friend at thirteen had been much easier for them to sweep under the rug).

There had, of course, been other girls that her parents hadn’t known about, but after the Harriet situation, things kind of went nuclear. Her parents didn’t take kindly to the whole lesbianism thing she’d been backed into admitting (not before Harriet had literally run out of their house - Nicole might have been tacitly out amongst a decent handful of friends and classmates, but Harriet was completely, one hundred percent closeted). There was a lot of ‘we trusted you to learn better after Clara’ followed by ‘and under _our_ roof too’ and eventually an ultimatum that she could change what they termed her 'lifestyle', or she could leave.

She was about one week from graduating high school at the time, and she wasn’t about to compromise a totally harmless part of herself for anyone, not even her folks, so she’d spent a few nights couch-surfing between her friends’ places, before taking an early place at college. She had tried to reconnect multiple times, but it was like talking to a brick wall the second she confirmed that yes, she was indeed still gay - especially given that this was almost always one of the first questions they asked.

As a result, putting herself through college and the Police Academy completely unaided (save for the modest scholarship her high school swimming medals had snagged her) has been a total uphill struggle. Too stubborn to ever ask her estranged parents for money, she has grown used to working multiple jobs to pay for school class by class, living in a kind of academic hand to mouth situation.

This job at the museum, at least, pays her enough on its own that she continues to rent a room slightly bigger than the box room in a not-terrible flat with great roommates. It also leaves her enough cash spare that, emergency expenditures aside, she pretty much never has to forgo food, and she is also able to cover the night school classes that she needs to finally qualify as an officer.

Plus, it’s something she can put on her resumé that is at least slightly relevant to her future career.

In spite of all this, though, the job is still frustratingly dull. Sure, the museum is popular enough and Nicole even thinks, via some very unscientific guesswork, that footfall has actually increased recently thanks to good word-of-mouth publicity on the new exhibits (kudos to the recently-appointed new curator).

In fact, on her first day’s work, she was given a tour of the place and a quick run-down of the current exhibits. The content was much more interesting than she had anticipated, even to a total history novice, and it was a lot higher in quality than Nicole had assumed could be put out by such a small place.

When asked her opinion, Nicole says this (albeit more diplomatically) and is told, with perhaps a little too much zeal from the teenaged volunteer, that she has come on board at an exciting time. This young, new curator of theirs had, it seemed, pushed through a lot of changes to what had been a struggling museum.

“It’s her first ever curating job,” the volunteer had explained. “She really wants to modernise and make the place a success.”

And, well, it seemed that the new curator was off to a good start - as fair as Nicole could tell, anyway. This wasn't to say, however, that she and Nicole had actually met yet. At first, Nicole had assumed that perhaps the senior members of staff didn't mingle in with the front of house team, but she found out otherwise after about a week working at the museum. 

"Oh no, not at all," the same volunteer had said, very seriously indeed. "She wants to get passed all the old-fashioned ways of doing things. 'We're all working towards the same thing', she told us on her first day - and I think we'll see a lot more of her than the last curator. You know, when she's finally back." 

As it turned out, this seemingly well-billed curator had immediately been pulled away from the office for a ton of meetings and seminars which seemed, to Nicole, to be pretty unfortunate timing.

Even taking into account the undercurrent of excitement on the shop floor from most of the staff and volunteers, the only real upshot for Nicole of this new, modern direction for the museum is that she at least doesn't have to patrol empty rooms. The slightly improved publicity (including a positive local report on the museum’s attempt at revitalisation in the current economic climate), easily puts paid to that prospect. No, the issue is more that there is absolutely no risk of theft or any other kind of crime taking place here and as such, no real need for Nicole except to tick all the right procedural boxes.

Her academy mentor would berate her soundly if she ever voiced such thoughts aloud because it is the absolute polar opposite attitude to the one they, as prospective officers, are supposed to adopt. Both the 'never dismiss proper procedure' and ‘never be complacent’ lectures are ones that they receive a great deal. Nicole gets it, really she does, but there surely has to be an element of common sense involved too.

She _has_ been doing a fair amount of recon after all and, all told, she is pretty certain that the treasures of the American West are safe in their display cases for now. The biggest misdemeanour she ever faces is about as dramatic as kids or overzealous students getting too close to the glass cabinets. In fact, it’s an exciting day all round when the heat sensors go off, and Nicole or one of the volunteers has to go and reset the master switch in the staff room.

Mostly, it’s a time consuming enough process that she can easily whittle away a whole fifteen minutes doing so. And when the days pass by as slowly as Nicole’s do, a fifteen minute job isn’t to be sniffed at. This is especially true when it is such a cumbersome process too, thank God for absolutely minuscule mercies.

As far as Nicole understands it, there was kind of an unsustainable heritage and arts boom a while back (well, unsustainable unless you were, like, MoMA or something) and it’s abundantly clear that the museum building here was never designed to accommodate the level of bureaucracy it must now adhere to.

Even the staff room isn’t really big enough for the comparatively small number of people it now must accommodate. Wisely, the majority of space possible has been given over to exhibits and a small public library (or to the tiny, cramped shop that has been squeezed into a corner by the ticket desk) but it also means that accessing the master switches and the central fusebox in the staff area is close to impossible, especially when you factor in people’s bags, coats, and other belongings.

There is no room to figuratively swing a cat, which would be particularly unwise given the number of rickety-looking wall shelves that house a multitude of mugs and other ceramic kitchen supplies.

This is important, Nicole thinks, in justifying to herself the fact that she is currently to be found laying flat on her back on a late-summer’s Wednesday morning, scrabbling beneath a heavily laden wooden table.

A kid with a high fever has tripped the heat sensor (it is back to school season, and Nicole is trying to avoid the associated spate of illness like, well, the plague) in Rothchild, and Nicole is on hand to turn it off. She is almost too keen to help, you could say. Well, it has been a painfully quiet morning.

Some genius installed all the master switches low down on a wall, and another genius ( _possible same genius?_ Nicole wonders) later bolted down a table right by it. It kind of means that a lot of scrabbling and bodily contortion is needed to flip the switch back up, but she gets there eventually. After a second or two, the little red indicator light stops blinking, letting her know that she has been successful. Just another day at the helm of community improvement.  

Go into policing they said. It’ll be rewarding, they said.   

Feeling uncharacteristically grumpy, Nicole stays on her back for a moment or two longer, grateful that the museum has to be air conditioned to a chilly sixty degrees . It is much appreciated after much twisting about under a table during what is shaping up to be an unseasonably hot September. Thanks a bunch, climate change deniers. 

“Are you okay?” comes a voice from the doorway, soft-sounding and sweet like melons in high summer. Still, it makes Nicole jump (and severely doubt her observation skills - _future cop indeed_ ) and she sits up quickly, forgetting the height of the table and cracking her head against it with an impressive, reverberating thump. She swears - fairly mildly, at least - and clutches at her forehead where an impressive bruise is now brewing, no doubt.

“Well, I was. Not so sure now,” she jokes self-deprecatingly, still rubbing cautiously at her head as she emerges from under the table, much more slowly this time. “More haste, less speed Nicole,” she mutters to herself, directly and purposefully quoting her maternal grandmother.

 A woman she doesn’t know is standing in front of her, hands cupped around her mouth in horror, covering most of her face. Only her pretty eyes are visible, and they are wide as saucers.

“I am  _ so  _ sorry,” she says, sounding about as embarrassed as Nicole feels. “I didn’t mean to startle you...I definitely should have thought that one through. I just saw you laying there and, well, worried I guess.”

“Don’t apologise for me being a doofus,” Nicole tells her, still looking at those deep brown eyes. “Some kid tripped the heat switch, I wasn’t down there in like, some existential crisis or something,” she explains, hoping the joke can dispel some of the mutual embarrassment in the room.

The woman finally drops her hands from her face, and Nicole stomach swoops downwards. She is pretty,  _ really _ pretty in fact, with a sweet, soft face to match her honey voice and those quick, bright eyes. She’s cute too, with her floral tea-dress and navy fitted blazer, and Nicole realises too late that her gaze has lingered just a little too long. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” the stranger says, evidently not missing Nicole’s overlong look. “Plus, I figured existential crises kind of require laying _face-down_ on the ground anyway,” she jokes back and Nicole chuckles, understanding her vague reference.  

“Sorry,” the woman goes on, shaking her head and sending her long braid into motion, “is it Nicole did you just say?” she asks, and Nicole feels her cheeks heat up slightly. How utterly  _brilliant_ that, on top of every other fantastically embarrassing part of this interaction, the woman in front of her had actually heard Nicole talking to herself.

“Yeah, I did. Nicole Haught. And before you ask, no it's not like h-o-t but it really is said that way unfortunately," she jokes as she offers her hand. Experience has taught her that it's usually worth getting that icebreaker out of the way immediately.

The other woman smiles and gently accepts the handshake. Her fingers are cold but her skin is soft.

She must realise the temperature of her skin as she takes Nicole's hand because she grimaces. 

“Sorry,” she repeats, and Nicole observes that this is the third time she has apologised. “I’m always cold so this probably wasn’t the career path for me what with temperature regulations and all. You’re on security, right?” she checks and Nicole nods. “I’m the curator. The new one, that is. Although I’ve been a pretty terrible at that the last couple of months. They set me up with a ton of meetings here, there, and everywhere - I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet when you first started.”

Nicole blinks. It hadn't clicked at all quickly enough that this woman was, to a degree, her boss. As introductions to higher-graded colleagues go, this had to be one of Nicole's worst to date. 

“Oh. Miss Earp, yeah?” Nicole checks, finally remembering to end the handshake which had endured far too long to be entirely comfortable for either party.

“Waverly, please,” comes the immediate, insistent response, accompanied by a sweet and genuine smile. Nicole has to actively stop herself from remarking that the woman, _Waverly_ , has an appropriately pretty name. 

 

“Warm hands, warm heart?" Waverly observes aloud as she drops Nicole's hand, before blushing slightly.

“Isn't it the other way round?" Nicole asks, flashing a pointed expression in the direction of Waverly's cold hands. "But yeah, I’m always running warm - this is actually kind of heaven for me.” 

“Oh just wait until winter comes,” Waverly jokes. “It’s horrible - and not just for my unnaturally cold self.”

Nicole laughs, probably more than the comment really warrants and she mentally scolds herself for doing so, adding in a self-directed, silent warning to cool it - just for good measure.

It is hard to have any preconceptions about someone you knew less than nothing about, but Waverly Earp surprises her because she is somehow not what Nicole was expecting.

And yet upon reflection, with Waverly standing right there in front of her, Nicole sees her own obvious mistake.

Nicole had been informed by that excited volunteer that the previous curator had retired after more or less a lifetime’s service in the same museum. While he had been well-liked enough as a person, he’d remained old school to the end. The place hadn’t modernised its approach in years, and was practically on its last legs when he finally left.

The new curator, Nicole recalls being told on numerous occasions, was extremely young for the post, inexperienced, and - everyone assured her - exciting in her modern way of approaching museum management.

Waverly is exactly who Nicole should have expected, and yet she isn't sure that she would ever have been able to conjure up someone quite so enthralling, even at the level of merest acquaintance. 

Nicole observes again the sparkle in Waverly Earp’s eyes. _Exciting indeed_.

“How are you liking it here so far? Everything going okay?” Waverly asks and Nicole inwardly cringes at the question. Anything too enthusiastic will sound insincere, but for all intents and purposes this is Waverly’s museum - Nicole can hardly insult the boss (even if technically Nicole doesn't actually report to her).

 “Yeah, it’s going well, thanks.” 

Immediately, Waverly’s brow wrinkles and it’s adorable. Frustrated, Nicole inwardly tells her stomach to quit it with the twisting around itself in knots.

“Kind of boring, huh?” Waverly says with a smile that seems mostly genuine but also a little sad, and Nicole realises how disinterested and vague she must have sounded. 

“No!” Nicole scrabbles to undo her gaffe. “I mean, the museum itself is great.”

Waverly laughs. “It’s okay, Nicole. Not everyone’s into history, and this place, well,” she sighs, “it has a long way to go.” 

“No, I’m serious,” Nicole insists. “The museum really is great - I’ve never loved _or_ hated history but I took a look on my first day and it’s all really interesting. It’s just,” she pauses, going on instinct that candour would be the most valued course of action in this instance. “Well, to be totally honest I’m surplus to requirements. I’m happy to be here, but y’all don’t need security. Don’t get me wrong I wouldn’t have preferred an placement downtown in one of the nightclubs or anything, it’s just quiet in terms of what I do, that’s all.” 

Waverly nods slowly, thinking over Nicole's response.

"It's a lot of standing around?" she clarifies and Nicole nods. 

"Exactly. I just can't really do anything that helps the place." 

“I’ll keep that in mind. We run mostly on volunteer power and we're always short-staffed, as I’m sure you’ve seen, so there’s always something that needs doing. I'm sure you can get involved from time to time. Only if you want to, of course, I understand you’re getting paid a flat rate by the agency. But there’ll always be something, if you’re ever bored to tears. I don't want that.”

“Thanks,” Nicole replies earnestly. “I’d rather be doing something useful than standing around, pay aside.”

“Well then, I’ll be sure to hunt you down if anything crops up.”

They make a little more cursory small talk - mostly around Nicole asking how Waverly likes her new job. 

She tells Nicole that is excited to get into it properly, but mentions the pressure of being so young and having a lot to do if she wants the museum running how it should be. If she fails, they close. Nonetheless, she practically beams when Nicole tells her that she thinks she’s seen visitor numbers go up during her time there, and has heard positive things about the new exhibits - Waverly’s first contribution to the place. 

“See? The displays really are great,” Nicole says just as Waverly’s cell phone rings. 

“Sorry, this is work-related, I swear,” she says hurriedly as she fishes it out of her blazer pocket. “I’d better go. It’s been nice to meet you though,” she says brightly. “Hopefully we’ll cross paths again soon. Well, it’d be impossible not to, in a place this small,” she reasons happily before hurrying off. 

Waverly has disappeared before Nicole can reply that she hopes the same thing, but Nicole declares it to the empty room anyway. 

It takes her a little while to notice that her stomach is still fluttering and she tries to shake the feeling loose. 

  
_ Great _ , she thinks to herself as she heads back out to restart yet another loop of the building.  _ This is  _ just  _ what I needed _ .

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, as Waverly had said, the museum is a small place and regularly crossing paths with anyone is an inevitability, although not something that Nicole would actively want to avoid in the first place. 

Every morning before the doors open there is a brief meeting in which room rotations are assigned - there must always be a volunteer or member of staff present within a certain radius at all times and they rotate every hour or so for variation. Mostly, the assignment process just involves someone reading from a spreadsheet while everyone else nurses coffees and blinks sleep out of their eyes.

As Nicole usually repurposes the morning commute into her daily run, she has had to find time to clean up and change and generally arrives earlier than anyone else. As a result, she can usually be found against the back wall by the door during these meetings, scarfing down a banana or other equally quick form of breakfast while she grips a mug of coffee in her other hand.

As someone technically hired out by another firm - and one of only two people actually insured for any security-related purposes - Nicole tends to show up to these meetings in body, rather than in spirit. She has her own set procedure to follow, and spends as much time on the door as she does prowling from room to room.

The morning assembly is only any good for getting to know newcomers (volunteers came and went) and doing a rough headcount - just in case this is the day someone is inspired to commit heinous criminal acts set amongst an exhibition on Westward Expansion and Manifest Destiny.

Uneventful as the meetings generally are, there are a few ongoing points of delay that always seem to slow them down slightly.

There is always a minor squabble over who is going to be on ticketing duty at the front desk ( _“but it’s Thursday today and I dealt with that angry guy who comes in every week just to complain that we don’t take a celebratory enough tone about Merriweather Lewis last week_!”) and who gets to stay late with Nicole to close up ( _“What? I told you two weeks ago that my mom is coming to town tonight and I needed to swap closing duty.”_ ). This usually leads to a rota reshuffle about which someone else then inevitably also complains.

The minutiae and slow pace of these morning meetings mean that they are hardly a concern for any senior staff, or those who don’t have front-facing jobs. Nicole is therefore somewhat surprised when the staffroom door opens and Waverly slips inside, today in a pretty white blouse with flowers embroidered on the collar. 

Waverly smiles when she sees Nicole, and creeps to stand on Nicole’s right side so as not to block the door.

Nicole smiles back and sips at her coffee as Waverly turns her attention to the meeting.

Things progress slowly as people raise issues ( _ “I’m telling you the dehumidifier in Harper is on its way out, it’s got a serious death rattle going on _ ”) and request shift swaps, but for all the minor issues they encounter everyone on the team generally gets along well, and things resolve themselves fairly easily.

With only about five minutes to go before Nicole needs to head out and open the doors, the meeting loses direction and people break off to chat in smaller groups.

Waverly glances over at Nicole, looking, in particular, at the banana peel still in her hand.

“So I think my bus passed you on a run today,” Waverly says quietly by way of a greeting. “Please tell me that doesn’t constitute your entire breakfast after how fast I saw you zooming along.”

Nicole shrugs with a guilty smile. “They’re a good source of fibre?” she tries. 

Waverly levels a mock stern look at her. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to start bringing in double servings of my granola.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Not to sound ungrateful but…” she shrugs, petering off and Waverly gives a tiny, chiming laugh. 

“I put it together myself to exclude all the gross bits. It’s my aunt’s concoction so it’s really good - trust me,” Waverly assures her. “And you can even put your banana in it, if you’re so inclined.” 

Nicole tilts her head in mock appraisal. “Hm. A convincing argument. Maybe I’ll have to take you up on it sometime.” 

The idea of sharing breakfast with someone isn’t actually an inherently suggestive one, and so Nicole half-surprises herself when she makes the suggestion with a bold undercurrent of, well, something that was uncomfortably close to outright flirtation. 

Sure, she hadn’t failed to notice that Waverly is attractive, but Nicole hadn’t quite intended for her voice to be so heavily laden. Still, there wasn’t really anything she could do about it once the words were out of her mouth. 

Waverly’s eyes go a little wide and Nicole starts trying to think of a get-out, but before she can speak Waverly moves the conversation on smoothly. Nicole internally winces. 

“How far do you run?” she asks politely, but in a way that also makes her seem at least mildly interested. 

“About seven or eight miles.”

“ _ Seven or eight miles _ ?” Waverly echoes, eyebrows raised comically. “You do that every day?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Nicole affirms, not sure what to make of the reaction. “Except for a rest day or a ‘take it easier’ day one ca week.”

“Jeez, that’s basically superhero training isn’t it?” Waverly asks, looking impressed and it makes Nicole laugh. 

“Nothing that extraordinary yet.”  

 “Well I think it is,” Waverly says. “I hate running, I’m probably super unfit but I don’t want to test the theory and find out just how bad things have gotten.”

Nicole mentally scoffs at the implication. Waverly’s shirtsleeves are capped at the shoulder, and Nicole can see the strength in her arms. She makes her feelings known with an incredulous quirk of her eyebrow as if to simply say _‘oh please_ ’ and Waverly bites her lip in response.

“These days my physical activity starts and ends with a bit of yoga,” she insists. “I couldn’t even run that many miles in a week. No wonder you’re in such good shape.”

The words settle between them and it takes a while for either to process not just what Waverly said, but how she said it. Clearly, Nicole isn’t the only one who can’t exchange early morning pleasantries without a slip in tone.

Nicole suspects, however, that Waverly’s momentary lapse may not exactly for the same reasons as her own.

“I just mean, uh, you know,” Waverly begins and evidently has planned a follow-up explanation. Fortunately, she is saved from making things any worse when Kim, one of the regular front of house staff, appears. Plump, ruddy, and eminently cheery she greets Nicole with the same, chipper attitude she always possesses, even first thing in the morning. 

“Ready to open up?” she asks, genuinely not aware that she is interrupting a conversation.

With a quick nod, Nicole drains her coffee and darts off to put the mug in the dishwasher before tossing the remnants of her breakfast into the trash.

“Sorry, I better get going,” she says to Waverly who nods quickly.

“Of course. See, um, see you later I guess?” 

Nicole grins. “Yeah, see you later.”

 

 

 

 

 

The day does not progress well but then, Nicole could have called that. Even before ten o’clock there has been a song and dance routine with a family whose young children won’t stop running around exhibits or clambering around cabinets. There’s a strong ethic in the museum of making history fun for young visitors (there is a treasure hunt-type activity in the making - another new measure brought in by Waverly, as far as Nicole is aware), but this is a step too far. Nicole happens to be in the room at the time, and is the one that has to gently ask, in the most diplomatic way possible, for the kids to cease and desist.

It results in tantrums from the kids, and behaviour from the parents which was not entirely dissimilar. Nicole supposes that getting an earful from disgruntled members of the public is going to be par for the course when she qualifies, so she does her best to regard it as good practice.

Then, about an hour so later and just like clockwork, their one regular customer arrives.

Every Thursday (at minimum), the same man comes to visit the museum. Nicole suspects that, in part, he likes the routine and has no issue whatsoever with that. The problem is that he has a lot of strong views on the Lewis and Clark era, and particularly on the museum’s more “ _modern_ ” (this was not the language he used to described it) take on the nature of the old nineteenth century land grabs. He lodged a complaint once and now comes in every week to see if they’ve changed the exhibit yet.

(They never have).

Nicole understands having a passion project, really she does, but the constant argumentative discussions are a lot for the already-busy staff to deal with. She doesn’t even wait for the radio call anymore, just hovers out of sight (sensing that her preemptive presence would only cause more tension) until she hears raised voices.

She’s already knee-deep in her _Advanced Conflict Resolution_ class, so it’s actually pretty good to have a practical tutorial once a week too.

Plus, Nicole has negotiating with this guy down to a fine art. It doesn’t mean it isn’t exasperating or, on some days, downright testing, but at least Nicole is well-equipped to conclude things swiftly. It is, too, the only time she is actually required to do anything remotely security related.

And, as that same maternal grandmother used to say, ‘if they’re doing it to you then at least they’re leaving someone else alone’.

Nicole isn’t convinced that’s strictly true, but her grandmother was ever the optimist. 

Unfortunately, her grandmother is not around and Nicole finds the man in a particularly bad mood today. It is a struggle to persuade him that he doesn’t need to see a director or the curator in this instance. Eventually, she negotiates him down to written correspondence and retrieves the generic inbox address for him but, after the mouthful she gets from him in the process, she certainly hopes he’ll be nice to everyone else today. 

After that, things go quiet and it gives Nicole a chance to mull over, well, anything and everything as she stands around. The dead time is useful for mentally planning assignments, for ensuring she hasn’t forgotten anything important, and, naturally, focussing on every stupid interaction she’s had. 

There is one in particular that sticks out today.  

Nicole isn’t entirely sure why things with Waverly got weird. It had been nice to see her again so soon, because Nicole isn’t about to deny that she is cute in every way. From what little Nicole had seen so far, Waverly has a sweet, bubbly persona which Nicole hadn’t strictly been expecting from a new curator (shame on her, she supposes, for her own silly preconceptions). 

Something about it all is picking at Nicole though, because it shouldn’t have been so super weird with someone she’d only just met yesterday. And while, in the long run, she wouldn’t be averse to a bit of harmless flirting with a pretty girl from work, Nicole has a sneaky suspicion that Waverly wouldn’t exactly be into that kind of interaction. 

She sighs to herself, shifting her stance as she does her stint standing at the front entrance. Happily, the late September sun is pleasantly warm on her cheeks, but not strong enough to burn.

She decides, eventually, to put this morning down to the pitfalls of “new person” interactions. They were never especially easy, and it wasn’t worth overthinking it all, especially as she has plenty of other things to go over. Almost all of them are Academy-related, and she mentally plans her weekend of studying while she whittles away the rest of the day, counting down the hours until it is time to close up. She still has three hours of night school to go before she can even think about food and sleep, and she is keen to try and pick up something small to graze upon on her way to class.

Still, Nicole takes pity on Lin, who hadn’t been able to wriggle out of closing duty, and assures her that she’ll turn a blind eye if she wants to duck out early and pick up her mom. Closing up is practically muscle memory at this point; it’s not hard to check that everything is securely locked away, and usually the biggest challenge is shepherding late visitors outside and ensuring that no one has been left behind.

It all goes relatively smoothly, save for someone Nicole assumes is a student who seems loathe to leave the little reading room where they keep a modest stock of books. Even with the convincing it takes for the kid to leave, Nicole is ahead of schedule and decides that she can afford a last quick check of the building. She can hear some movement in the office rooms, but it isn’t strange for the skeleton operations staff (by Nicole’s last count: two members of finance, a part-time customer services guy, and a lady who does engagement and learning management but who also doubles as IT). They have their own keys to a back door, which leaves Nicole free to close the shutters out front when she leaves. 

On a whim, she decides on a last sweep of the reading room. Having done college herself, she wouldn’t put it past the student from earlier to sneak back inside if their workload is already really grim. You can’t actually check out the books here, so Nicole would have heard of students doing weirder things than intentionally locking themselves into a museum overnight.

Sure enough, she spots a light on in the far corner of the room and rolls her eyes. 

“Hello? Look I know you probably have a deadline to meet but so do -”

A tiny, startled squeak makes Nicole stop. She didn’t think she’d been that quiet on the approach but evidently she’d taken the kid by surprise. She rounds a bookshelf and discovers that the reader is not, in fact, the student from before but Waverly with her nose in a book. Nicole feels herself colour a little. 

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I had trouble evicting a college kid earlier - thought stranger things would have happened than them sneaking back in,” Nicole explains.

The irony of this encounter is not lost on her given their initial meeting barely more than twenty four hours ago.  

Waverly shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. I guess we’re kind of even now right, for yesterday?”

Naturally Waverly would see the parallel too. Nicole laughs and holds up her hands.

“Not the intention but I guess so. Sorry,” she apologises again, “I thought I’d made enough noise on the way in.”

“I’ve always been able to totally zone out when I’m reading,” Waverly tells her, giving the book a wave. “Someone could probably have set a bomb off before I noticed.”

“Well in that case I really won’t be doing my job properly,” Nicole jokes and Waverly laughs, and it dissipates any remaining tension from the scare. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.”

“No need, I only had to check one thing,” Waverly says brightly, snapping the book shut and swivelling to return it to its space in the bookcase. She has to crane on her tiptoes to reach the uppermost shelf, and Nicole wonders how she got the book down in the first place. Nicole offers her helps, and reluctantly Waverly accepts.

“Thanks,” she says with a tiny, cute pout that has Nicole's heart skittering again.

“Small person problems, huh?” Nicole jokes as they shut the light off and leave the room together.

“Yeah. Not that  _ you’d _ know. Giant,” she grouses in such a way to make it very obvious to Nicole that she intends the comment playfully.

“Hey it’s not all fun and games you know,” Nicole jests back. “ _See_?” she says pointedly when she has to duck under an old, low doorway.

Waverly just laughs and they cover the remaining short distance in silence. 

“Are you leaving now?” Waverly asks as they arrive at the main entrance and come to a stop, about to head in opposite directions.

“Yep, gotta be somewhere in like thirty,” Nicole says, checking her watch. Luckily, the Academy's rented classrooms aren’t too far from the museum on foot.

“Oh, okay. Yeah I’m just heading to grab my bag myself. Please don’t let me keep you.”

Nicole risks another glance at her watch.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she says.

(It isn’t).

“I should just about have time,” she tells Waverly, who smiles and darts off.

(She doesn’t). 

Nicole won’t be late to class if she walks at a brisker pace even than normal, and luckily Waverly seems okay with the speed. 

They chatter on the way to Waverly’s bus stop - more small talk about where they live and with whom. 

“There’s a bunch of us in a houseshare like forty five minutes out,” Waverly explains, her grim tone saying a lot more than her words.

“Sounds like you love it,” Nicole observes sarcastically. 

“No, it’s fine. I get on really well with Chrissy - she’s an old friend from home actually - but it’d be nice to have a smaller place. We keep talking about getting a two-bed apartment in town now I’m working full-time but…” she trails off and Nicole understands. 

“It’s a hassle though, right?”

“ _God_ yes. Such a hassle.”

“So, how are you liking the full-time employment life?” Nicole asks, happy to let Waverly do the talking. She’s not particularly private as things go, but she enjoys learning about others much more than talking about herself.

“Oh it’s great,” Waverly says enthusiastically. “I loved college and by the time you finish your PhD you’re basically on regular office hours anyway, but it’s just so nice to have structure. Not to mention this is kind of the job I dreamed about having for ages,” Waverly adds, although it is clear she is resisting speaking about one element of regular employment in particular.

Nicole, however, has no such hangups. 

“Plus the money,” Nicole suggests and Waverly looks relieved that Nicole is clearly on the same page.

“The _money_ ,” Waverly says with a theatrical, indulgent sigh. “Actual money again, it’s amazing. Not having to choose between milk and fresh vegetables.”

“I love how big you’re thinking,” Nicole jokes.

“Hey, milk _and_ veggies? It’s important stuff,” Waverly replies, returning the humour immediately.

“For sure,” Nicole agrees mock-seriously. “What else are you gonna eat with your homemade granola?”

Waverly tries to give an offended gasp but mostly just struggles not to laugh. 

“You’re officially uninvited to share breakfast with me if you’re going to mock my delicious meals.”

“Excuse you I’m taking this _very_ seriously.”

They share a laugh and, when Waverly speaks again, they resume the initial topic of conversation.

“But to answer your question properly yes, I love the new job. Like I said yesterday though, it’s daunting. I’m sure you’ll know that getting taken seriously at our age is hard sometimes.” 

Nicole understands what Waverly is saying, even if she is too polite to outright say: _things are shit in employment when you’re young and female_.

“Plus,” Waverly goes on, “I’m going into an established workplace with a very small workforce. I officially started the job like a month ago and haven’t even had time to properly meet anyone yet except for two quick meetings in August. They all seem happy with the stuff I want to implement, but it was an interesting few exchanges when I first came in. Change is hard, I guess, especially when they're all worried their jobs are gonna go. The museum really is that close to shutting, although you didn't hear that from me. I just want to do a good job, you know? And I want to fit in there.” 

_Ah._

Nicole thinks she understands things a bit better now. Nicole is a relative newcomer to the team too and they are both of a similar age (unlike most of the staff who are either older or the volunteers who are usually teenagers). It’s almost nice to kind of see that Waverly had pinned her hopes on Nicole as an avenue of initial friendship. 

Plus, Nicole gets it. The wanting to fit in, the desire for a team of sorts.

“Sorry,” Waverly says when Nicole doesn’t reply immediately. “That was a lot. I shouldn't have overshared.”

“No,” Nicole insists quickly, “I liked hearing it. Thank you,” she says, hoping to show Waverly that she appreciates the candour.

“This is my bus stop,” Waverly tells her in lieu of a direct reply, and they stop by the packed shelter, the commuter rush going strong.

“So,” Nicole says, acutely aware of the time ticking away before class. She would have to forgo any form of snack and just be hungry until later. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, probably with all that delicious breakfast food you were telling me about.”

Waverly beams. “Look, I'm not going to say that I don’t want to oversell it because it's simply not possible.” She bites her lip, a gesture Nicole is beginning to recognise already. “I’m usually there by seven-thirty, eight o’clock,” she tells Nicole nervously.

“Me too. See you then, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Waverly says brightly as a bus arrives. “Have a nice evening.”

“Yeah, I will. You too.”

Putting her earbuds in as Waverly boards her bus, Nicole walks away with decorum until she is certain she is out of sight, and then breaks into an uncivilised dash to ensure she gets to class on time.

 

 

 

 

 

[Jeremy Chetri, 20:25] Made too much stir fry before going away. Leftovers in the fridge are fair game.  
[Jeremy Chetri, 20:25] Tell Dolls as well please.  
[Jeremy Chetri, 20:43] I know you’re both in class but I have to get up super early for my coach tomorrow. Gonna turn in so see you when I get back. Send me all the good vibes you have.   
[Nicole Haught, 21:02] OMG I THINK I LOVE YOU  
[Nicole Haught, 21:03] THANK YOU SO MUCH  
[Nicole Haught, 21:03] Also we hope your visit home isn’t too terrible - we’re available for rants by text or facetime.

 

 

 

 

 

Xavier Dolls was born to embody the expression “a riddle wrapped in an enigma”.

Based on Nicole’s interactions with him over the years, he had shown himself to actually be a pretty sweet, straightforward dude but, as a general rule, he gave absolutely nothing away about himself to anyone else. 

Intensely solemn sometimes, contrastingly outgoing at others, and consistently thoughtful and introspective, he was the kind of friend Nicole was always glad to have. Perhaps just as importantly, he was a dream of a housemate too.

He was quiet enough that he never intruded or made a nuisance of himself, sociable enough that Nicole felt able now - after some years - to call him a friend, and always sufficiently in tune with others’ moods to act on intuition.

He had done Nicole a solid a few months after she joined the Academy by offering her first refusal on the recently-vacated room in his flat. Initially she’d moved into what, in fairness, she knew would be a terrible place upon her arrival in the city, more concerned with having a fixed abode in order to sign up for course credits than the nature of the abode itself. But even after only a few months, Nicole had known she needed to move. There was damp everywhere, her flatmate never cleared up after herself, and their neighbours - a young couple - were constantly arguing in loud, staccato Japanese at midnight or later (never at any other time, though).

Dolls was studying at the Academy too, and they had been put together for most of their groupwork that semester (their surnames weren’t especially alphabetically close, but the group was all skewed to _N_ s and _Ts_ ). They had gravitated together quite early on, on the basis that most of the other group members were objectively stupid or brazenly dickish or both.  

Dolls quietly tolerates people but he seems to genuinely warm to very few. Nevertheless he had, from the outset, supported Nicole’s suggestions for their projects, and he would quietly roll his eyes at some of the more inane comments made (looking at no one in particular except freakin’ Lonnie, who is always an idiot). 

Then, one day, as they leave a group meeting, Dolls overhears Nicole complaining about her accommodation, and the rest rapidly becomes history. 

Nicole gets the second smallest room by grace of it being the only one available. She hits it off immediately with the other housemate, Jeremy. During their first introduction he tells her he works in IT but she still, to this day, thinks that he works in some kind of cyber security role and just isn’t that good at thinking up a decent cover or, indeed, being entirely low-key about it. 

It is explained to Nicole from the get go that, for all intents and purposes, it will be just the three of them as the owner of the real box room, Eliza, is military and can often check out for weeks, if not months, at a time. She always pays her rent on time though, which makes her a good housemate to keep.

So, when she stands in the bright, airy, _modern_ kitchen for the first time, Nicole knows that ‘just the three of them’ would be a perfect arrangement and, without fail, it is.

Her schedule aligns with Dolls’ enough that they can share the nightly walk home (Nicole can more than handle herself but it’s nice to go in pairs anyway), and Jeremy is the perfect level of social that Nicole gets her alone time, but can also spend Sunday evenings under a blanket with him as they watch nature or science documentaries with a bowl of popcorn between them and a beer each.

Tonight, however, all is quiet as Jeremy is in bed by the time she and Dolls traipse home. They eat leftover stir fry in relative silence, swapping minor inanities if they do talk at all. Nicole talks about her niggling issues with their latest set of classes and Dolls listens, nodding deeply and offering the odd observational comment back.

She asks about his side job (coaching) and he, in turn, enquires about hers because, bless him, he really does care as much as Nicole does.

“Boring,” Nicole says bluntly around a mouthful of baby sweetcorn. “Oh, but I did meet the new curator yesterday-slash-today. She’s nice.” Nicole is aware how enthusiastic she sounds and realises that she has probably given too much away.

Dolls pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and looks across at Nicole. An errant beansprout falls back down to his plate.

“Nice?” he echoes and Nicole levels her best _‘don’t you dare_ ’ look at him.

“Yes,” she answers, voice even. “Nice.”

Dolls blinks once at her before resuming his meal.

“Okay,” he says, not to be knowing or patronising or contrary. Just, _okay_.  

Satisfied, Nicole finishes eating, debating over seconds before deciding the food would keep for another day. She suspects that Jeremy perhaps made such a mammoth amount of food as a hint; Dolls and Nicole didn’t exactly get a lot of time for cooking wholesome meals between work and class and assignments. Jeremy’s food repertoire wasn’t especially broad either, and he was just as guilty of eating cereal for dinner three nights in a row too (he pulled a lot of what he termed overtime, although **it is probably just super secret security work)** , but he at least made the effort sometimes. 

She washes up, leaving the warm, soapy water in the basin for Dolls before yawning grandly.

“I’m gonna shower and turn in,” she announces around a second yawn and then a third.

“Good idea,” Dolls observes wryly and Nicole punches him lightly on the shoulder on her way to the door. 

“Don’t stay up too late,” she tells him before bidding him goodnight and tracking off to her room.

She finds it half-lit by the floodlights from outside, yellow light bleeding between the half-closed slats in her blind. Their flat is on the ground floor (great for heavy shopping, bad for privacy) and Nicole never really fully opens the blinds while she’s out. It’s unideal, but hardly a huge complaint when she considers how bad her last place was.

Their fifth flatmate is already in her room, Jeremy having probably let her in earlier in the evening. Long before Nicole arrived, their ground floor location had brought Jeremy, Dolls, and Eliza a regular visitor in the form of a beautiful ginger cat. When they first met her, so Nicole is told, it was obvious that she was not at her peak and she didn't seem to have an owner of any kind.(They would discover in time that she certainly didn’t have any master either). Her beautiful coat was ragged in places and she had grown gradually thinner and thinner before their eyes. When they could stand it no longer, they started putting food outside for her.

No one else is much of an animal person, cats or otherwise, but everyone in the flat at the very least entertains her presence - even Jeremy with his mild allergies. But is is Nicole, reminded fervently of a childhood pet, who falls in love with this ginger cat, eventually letting her inside one rainy afternoon; a flagrant flouting of the flat’s no-pet rules. In return, the cat takes most strongly to Nicole after a cool getting to know you period. She seems nervous initially, but gradually trusts Nicole enough to take up semi-permanent residence at the foot of Nicole’s double bed. 

Nicole always did have a habit of picking up waifs and strays; perhaps there was something about being kindred spirits that so often drove them together.

In time, the cat’s own wilful disregard for any kind of rule or boundary (along with her frankly horrendous track record with both desk lamps - it was the cables that were the downfall, seemingly - and crockery resting in the drying rack) earns her the nickname of Calamity Jane.

Calamity Jane becomes an unofficial flat pet (the decision a more or less unspoken one) but when it comes down to it, she is Nicole’s cat as much as she can be. Nicole has no intention of taking someone’s pet in the unlikely event that the owner is still around, but does intend on keeping CJ safe from hardships until someone claims her. 

Jane waits, therefore, on Nicole’s bed that night as she does most evenings. She had been napping when Nicole enters, and wakes at the sound of the door with a bleary yowl. She stretches but does not get up, instead watching idly as Nicole collects everything she needs for a long, indulgent shower. 

As Nicole exits again swiftly, Jane simply lounges out, smoothly flicking her tail back and forth in silent observation.

She is no more energised when Nicole returns, her skin pink from the warm water and her pyjamas already on. She suddenly feels the protracted nature of the day in every joint (standing around all day isn’t entirely pleasant even if it’s probably better than sitting) and wants nothing more than slip into bed and sleep for as long as possible.

For all her mischievousness and her frequent ill-temper, Calamity Jane likes to be close to Nicole - even if this is entirely on her own terms. She waits until the light is out and Nicole is done getting comfortable before prowling up the bed and selecting a spot on the spare pillow, making circles until she is happy. She purrs as she settles down and, barely a minute later, the two of them are out like lights.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh no! Nicole finally wakes up and realises she has a crush. Nicole, you useless lesbian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! i am back with an uncharacteristically speedy update. i basically just finished editing this chapter and thought: hey, why not post early? live life on the edge and all that. 
> 
> so thank you so much to everyone who left such kind comments or hmu on twitter about the fic. you are all far too kind and hearing your thoughts has really made my day. i'd love to hear how you feel about this chapter if you all have the time. i certainly hope it lives up! 
> 
> as ever, thank you so much for reading.

Waverly, Nicole concludes after some weeks, must be some kind of superhuman because she seems to work more than anyone Nicole knows (her own self included), and never seems to have a bad thing to say throughout the entirety of whichever task - or more often,  _ tasks _ \- is keeping her all too occupied. 

More or less the first thing Nicole learns about Waverly is that she takes an exceptional degree of joy and pride in every job she does, no matter how small. 

It doesn’t matter the significance of the job, Waverly seems to throw herself into it; from designing and overseeing the replacement of one of the displays, to drafting a release for a local magazine, to simply ensuring that volunteers are well-trained and confident in their roles. There should be people in a myriad of different roles taking on these jobs, but with the museum’s skeleton staff most things seem to fall automatically to Waverly’s in-tray. 

As a result, she is always hard at work by the time Nicole arrives in her running gear first thing, and she is still usually in her office in the evening after the final visitor has been ushered out.

Nicole’s own working hours align quite well with Waverly’s routine, and it draws them into something of a quaint system. 

After their conversation at the bus stop, Nicole finds herself somewhat uncertain as to what the arrangement is supposed to be. It would be nice to have someone to pass the morning with, but she isn’t at all convinced as to whether it is too presumptuous to be calling at Waverly’s office first thing the next day. 

In fact, Nicole feels uncharacteristically unsure the next day. It is unusual for her, even in the most mundane of situations, not to have a direction and a way of getting there. Instead, the next morning she steps out of the staff bathrooms and considers whether she might make an unwelcome guest of herself in Waverly’s morning routine. But then, a voice reminds her, she could just as easily appear aloof and disinterested if she simply keeps to herself. 

Clad in her uniform and with her workout bag tucked tightly under her arm, Nicole must pass all of the admin teams’ offices on her way to the staffroom. The corridors are still dimly-lit - there isn’t much point lighting the whole place up when no one is around. 

Plus, Nicole isn’t actually sure where the light switch is hidden away.

Waverly is already in her office - Nicole can tell from the chink of light spilling out of the space left between the frame and the door, slightly ajar as always. The door is always opened a slither to encourage visitors whilst trying to combat the noise of day to day operations which has the tendency to carry through thin barriers.   
  


Nicole almost knocks, but realises at the last minute that Waverly is talking to someone on the phone. It sounds like a personal call from the animated way Waverly is speaking, but Nicole doesn’t linger for long enough to hear anything more.  

She wanders away, strangely glad that the decision has been made for her and acutely aware that it isn’t remotely like her to feel this out of sorts about something so simple. 

She frowns, reminding herself sternly that she’s well past the point of getting so flustered over speaking to a pretty woman. 

It doesn’t seem all that simple, however, when she heads for her usual spot on the old, worryingly discoloured couch wedged along one wall of the staffroom. The space is as empty as normal at this hour, but not as untouched. Sitting plainly in the middle of the table is a still-steaming mug of coffee, roughly the strength Nicole had made for herself the day before, a yellow post-it note beside it. 

Waverly’s writing (for it can only be hers) is long and slanted, and she loops her  _ l _ s, _ g _ s, and  _ y _ s in a way that somehow feels in-character, although Nicole doesn’t really know how that can be said after only a couple of days.

_ Can you stop being so damn energetic right in front of my bus route please - you’re making me feel bad! (P.S. I was boiling the kettle and figured you’d need the extra energy _ ).

Nicole smiles and takes both the mug and the note over to the couch with her. The coffee is perhaps the tiniest bit weaker than she’d make it for herself and it has been left unsweetened, probably as the safer bet (and it is definitely the right option as far as Nicole is concerned). 

She reads the note again, considering whether it would be unsentimental to throw it away. She doesn’t really want to just toss it in the trash, however, and instead tucks it under her plastic phone cover for safekeeping. She can pin the note on her corkboard when she gets home. There’s a handy spot right between her winter semester rota and a polaroid photo of her and Shae on summer vacation who knew how many years ago. The post-it note should fit perfectly.  

She whiles away her empty time by checking out some required reading on her phone while she sips her coffee, mug in one hand and obligatory banana in the other as she balances the phone awkwardly on her thigh. 

She sits in relative peace, enjoying the calm as sounds of life gradually start up on the street outside and drift inside through the thin glass of the window - single glazing at its finest. The weak morning sun is just about growing strong enough to drive away some of the gloominess of what had started out as a stuffy but cloudy day. By mid-morning, she thinks, the mist will probably have burned off altogether.

The article for her theory class proves dull and she finds herself drifting to  _ Facebook _ instead, not that she ever does anything there but scroll mindlessly and check her closed school groups. She’s lucky if she updates her profile picture twice a year these days. 

Around five minutes before the customer services team usually starts arriving, the staff room door opens and Waverly slips inside with a cheery good morning. Nicole greets her in kind and Waverly comes to stand opposite the couch, resting against the edge of the table. 

“How was it?” she asks, nodding her head at the half-full mug in Nicole’s hand.

“Perfect, thank you - it was kind of you to think of me.”

“You can be honest if my coffee skills were bad, you know. I only really drink it if it’s from like  _ Starbucks  _ or something, so I sort of just winged it,” she smiles. “Otherwise you know you’re running the serious risk of me making it like that again and then you’ll have awkwardly backed yourself into pretending it’s nice for the rest of your life.” 

Chuckling to herself Nicole says, “ _ practically _ perfect then.”

“Sugar?” Waverly asks. “Sweetener?”

“Neither.”

“Stronger? Or too strong?” 

“I usually make it stronger, but it’s fine. It’s nice that you did it at all,” Nicole insists. 

“Of course,” Waverly says with a nonchalant shrug. “I was boiling the kettle for my tea anyway and I knew you’d be  _ zooming _ in soon - there’s no point wasting energy, right?” Waverly half sounds like she’s stating the point to herself as much as to Nicole. 

Nicole rolls her eyes at the reference to her morning run. 

“For sure, gotta stop that global warming one hot drink at a time.”

“I know you’re joking but I’m going to elect to ignore that because actually small gestures are  _ very  _ important,” Waverly says imperiously, crossing her arms and levelling a mock-serious gaze across at Nicole. 

“Oh I agree,” Nicole says, tilting her mug in reference to an important small gesture of a wholly different kind.

“Well recovered,” Waverly says, failing to entirely bite back a smile.

From behind them, the echoing of footsteps starts up as the first influx of the team arrives for the morning briefing. In preparation, Nicole gets up from the couch, planning to the space to those who need to be more involved in the start of day proceedings. She takes up her usual position at the back as people start arriving, tired-sounding morning greetings already sounding before they’re even fully in the room. 

Waverly immediately joins her, standing close enough in the restricted space that Nicole can smell her shampoo - fruity, sweet, and slightly difficult to place. 

There isn’t much scope to say a lot as others gradually file in, the noise building up as the numbers increase quickly. Most people tended to congregate at the front desk first thing, so that they can talk somewhere that is a little more spacious, and they usually set off for the staffroom at the same time.

Nicole and Waverly stand side by side in silence, but occasionally Waverly catches Nicole’s eye and smiles. Nicole smiles back at her, the gesture feeling easy and natural.

Waverly Earp, Nicole decides, is the kind of person that you simply cannot fail to like. 

As if to prove this point, the very next morning there is another cup of coffee waiting on the table for Nicole - this one slightly stronger than the last.

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole finds that, as time passes, Waverly seeks out her company more often than Nicole had perhaps expected. 

It is not entirely obvious whether this is deliberate or not, but regardless it is never unwelcome. 

For a week or so in mid-October, roadworks disrupt Waverly’s bus route and she arrives at work ever so slightly later than normal each morning. Nicole is surprised therefore, the first time this happens, to find Waverly still at the staff room sink when she has finished changing her clothes and makes it to her usual spot at the sofa. 

“This is different,” Nicole announces brightly as she shuts the door behind her, and Waverly flashes a smile over her shoulder as she washes up a few bits of crockery, completely eschewing the dishwasher. 

“Roadworks - everything was carnage,” Waverly explains gravely. “Gonna be like that at least a week. Sorry, I’ve disturbed your peace and quiet,” she adds, not sounding sorry at all. 

“Not even slightly,” Nicole insists, dropping her bag off and immediately snagging a tea towel from the radiator. It appears to be borderline clean but Nicole doesn’t look for too long - sometimes, it is better not to know. 

“One-woman crusade against global warming again?” Nicole asks as she dries up the mugs (all belonging to others) and bowls (presumably Waverly’s) that had been left out to drain. Waverly flashes her a confused look and Nicole taps the dishwasher with her foot. 

“Oh, right,” Waverly says, catching on. “I wanted my stuff right away and everything else was just here. Thank you, by the way,” she says in reference to Nicole’s helping hand as she dumps a final few forks on the draining board and empties the sink. She dries her hands on the end of the towel Nicole is using, standing close to do so.

“It’s the least I can do after all the coffees I’ve had,” Nicole says after slightly too long, right as the kettle clicks pointedly and Waverly chuckles at the timing. 

“Right on cue for another,” she observes cheerfully and sets about putting their drinks together. 

They chatter about their evenings although there is nothing much of note to report upon - they are both so tired that it is a challenge to do much more than shower and drag themselves to bed each night. Neither seems to have much of a social life to remark upon at the moment. 

The lack of conversation doesn’t make the half hour before work any less enjoyable, however, when Waverly settles beside Nicole on the sofa and states that losing a tiny bit of overtime won’t hurt just this once. 

But ‘just this once’ turns into twice, and then three times, and indeed every morning that the replacement route is in force. On those mornings, they make more idle, comforting small talk while the aged kettle (practically old enough to be eligible for its own display case in the public gallery) bubbles and rattles away on the worktop. 

Nicole finds that she gradually ends up squirreling away information on Waverly without really meaning to do so. 

Waverly: talks with her hands, is  _ actually _ related to Wyatt Earp down the line (!), has a sister, likes tulips and gerberas the best, is a vegetarian, had a childhood pet fish ( _ Spish _ , really?!), was a cheerleader at school (obviously), drinks bitter green tea flavoured with sweet citrus fruits…

The list grows and grows as the mornings turn squarely darker and gloomier in the window behind them.  

Waverly does not announce when her bus route returns to normal, but Nicole knows when the road repairs conclude. There is not a single indication from Waverly that their morning rendezvous’ will go the same way. 

 

 

 

 

 

“I hope you’re somewhere better and warmer than here,” comes a voice from Nicole’s side, just outside of her line of vision. Nicole tries not to jump, embarrassed at having been caught absent and daydreaming on the job. 

If the summer lasted longer than expected, then the fall surprises them all by arriving suddenly, and leaving almost as quickly as it came. The sudden drop in temperature makes standing at the front entrance much less pleasant, not least because the museum’s hyper-sensitive automatic doors open with a flood of cold air every time Nicole so much as blinks, or so it feels.

Waverly steps gratefully into the museum, dropping her umbrella into the bucket provided and delicately brushing rainwater off the faux leather of her messenger bag. There is an enormous paper cup in her other hand, her fingers pink from the heat of the drink within. 

“Sorry,” Nicole says sheepishly. “Some security guard, huh?”

Waverly shakes her head. “It’s like you said back when we met, there’s not really much high-octane stuff to keep your mind on the job here.”

Nicole shrugs. “It’s no excuse.”

“Well between you and I,” Waverly says, voice conspiratorial, “I think it’s a fine excuse just this once.”

“I’ll be sure not to use it again,” Nicole jokes right as Waverly starts rummaging round her bag.

“Absolutely right,” she says in her best stern voice, looking up to catch Nicole’s gaze as she continues to scrabble for something. “If you are particularly eagle-eyed,” she goes on, still searching, “it might have caught your attention that I went to buy coffee  on my way back from my meeting.”

As winter approaches, it has brought with it a flurry of activity in the museum for pretty much everyone except Nicole herself. She had managed to make herself marginally useful earlier in the week by digging out a box of Hallowe’en decorations, but that was about as far as her own workload had increased.

Waverly, on the other hand, was snowed under with meetings with possible donors as well as various bureaucratic-sounding boards who administered things that Nicole did not fully understand. 

“You know, something  _ had _ given me that impression,” Nicole agrees right as Waverly makes a tiny, triumphant sound and pulls out some very-battered looking green and brown paper wrapping from her bag.

“Anyway I picked you up a cookie,” she says, looking almost bashful as she hands the cafe’s takeout bag to Nicole. “Although it looks like it might have gotten squished, sorry. I was trying to keep it from getting soggy.”

Nicole takes it gratefully, a little surprised (albeit pleasantly) at the thoughtful gesture. This must come across when she thanks Waverly, because she immediately hurries to explain her thought process. 

“I was buying myself something for lunch and there was a long queue, so I sort of ended up staring into the display case for ages. I figured you need to eat more per morning than just a banana and, you know, your days drag. Therefore, treats are necessary.” 

Nicole thanks her again, and tries to offer to pay, but Waverly won’t hear of it. 

“It’s not a treat if I make you pay,” she protests, “I hope you like triple chocolate by the way, I really didn’t know what you might want. Also it was the only kind they had left.”

“Everyone likes triple chocolate cookies, surely?” Nicole asks. “It’s very kind of you - day significantly improved.”

“I’m sorry we can’t offer up much of anything more interesting for you.” Waverly looks so sincerely apologetic that Nicole can’t help but grin.

“Yeah it’s totally on you,” she says, tongue in cheek, and Waverly looks worried, “that huge drop in inner-city museum crime rates.”

The concern slides instantly from Waverly’s face and she whacks Nicole’s arm with her free hand. 

“Sakes, you had me for a minute,” she says, voice pitched higher and louder in relief. “I regret being nice to you now.”

Nicole pretends to be confused.

“When did that happen again?”

It earns her another smack on the arm and a moment of shared laughter - totally worth it.

(With a great deal of willpower Nicole saves the cookie until she gets home later that night, and indulges in a wild night of laying in bed with Calamity Jane, watching sitcom reruns, and eating her triple chocolate chip cookie.

It is sweet and soft, and maybe, therefore, fitting that it was the choice of baked goods that Waverly had made). 

 

 

 

 

 

If the close of fall and imminent arrival of winter scarcely impacts on Nicole’s working life, it does mean that her Academy training pretty much gears up into overdrive. 

If she wasn’t already working enough, winter brings with it the looming spectre of finals season. Course assessment dates start to drag closer and they bring with them the first stirrings of that well known pre-deadline panic. Being in her final year, Nicole isn’t doing a whole lot of training that actually involves traditional final tests, but there are a smattering of exam-condition assessments still to contend with. She will have to find time for a regular physical test too and, on her last count, she has at least four written assignments for her to turn in over the coming weeks.

In the meantime, the museum prepares behind the scenes, first for Hallowe’en and then for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Holidays, Nicole learns, are a great excuse to run new events and promotions, even for tiny museums, and she tries to get herself into the spirit of things too - even if they don’t directly involve her. 

She adds to the decorations as requested, which is at least still a marginally involved task - more so than standing around - and Waverly runs the general intention for kid-friendly themed activities and exhibits past everyone during one morning meeting just before Hallowe'en. There are no solid plans in place just yet, and she makes it clear that she is open to suggestions from anyone and everyone while she tries to secure funding. 

It draws a thoughtful murmur from the floor and Nicole sees by everyone’s expressions that they are immediately considering options. There is little time to discuss it there and then, however, and Waverly simply adds an assurance that her door is always open in this circumstance and in all others. 

It is a good concluding note for the meeting, and everyone almost immediately disperses, Nicole among them as she heads towards the main entrance to open up. 

She speeds off, unaware that Waverly had been trying to catch her up. 

Instead, she mulls over the upcoming day, feeling more than a little morose about it. They have a pre-arranged school visit today and the thought of keeping tabs on sixty plus under-elevens is giving Nicole a pre-emptive tension headache.   

She likes kids, she really does, but not that many of them at once. 

She is still considering the prospect when she finally hears Waverly calling to her.

“I won’t keep you,” Waverly says when she eventually jogs up behind Nicole and has her attention. “Plus I have literally seven meetings this morning, so I have to run anyway.”

“Ouch,” Nicole says, wincing in sympathy. “That’s a lot of bureaucracy for a Friday morning.” 

“Tell me about it. Some will at least be super constructive, I hope.” She drops her voice and leans in slightly. “We’re applying for greater funding, but please  _ please _ don’t mention it. We still have a long way before we’re in the clear money-wise, and footfall,” she pauses and casts her eyes down sadly, “well, it still isn’t where I’d like it yet.”

Nicole frowns, clearly she’s not the only one putting a lot of pressure on herself at the moment. 

“Okay but that’s the operative word though, yeah? ‘Yet’ - it keeps going up as time goes on,” she says, putting as much encouragement into her voice as she can.

Waverly lights up. “Do you really think so? There won’t be any stats for this month any time soon so it’s hard for me to tell.”

“Hey, I stand at the door every day. I  _ know _ so.” At the last minute, Nicole also remembers to swear to secrecy.  

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Waverly insists hurriedly, “although I guess that’s obvious since I told you. It’s just that, you know…”

“You shouldn’t have,” Nicole fills in for her simply. “Shouldn’t have told me, that is.”

Waverly nods. “I don’t know why I did, actually. I trust you, I guess,” she says with a bemused shrug.

“Don’t worry I get it. And I know how to keep a secret,” Nicole assures her.

Playfully, Waverly briefly pokes her tongue out. “Yeah I kinda noticed that,” she jokes and Nicole flashes her a questioning look. “I don’t think I know half as much about you as the other way round,” Waverly explains lightly, obviously without any real intent behind the words.

Still, Nicole frowns. She hadn’t been intending to be so reticent. Waverly catches the expression and hurries to repair what she interprets to be a blunder on her part.

“Oh no, I don’t mean anything by it. I just - well, we’ll have to correct that sometime. You know, if you want to. You don’t  _ have _ to tell me stuff obviously, I just - I’m saying I’d be interested in hearing it. Also please say something immediately as a mercy to me and my current state of embarrassment.”

Nicole laughs, charmed by the sweet way pink clouds bloom on Waverly’s cheeks and throat when she gets flustered. 

“Was there something I can help with? You know aside from changing the topic?” Nicole jokes and Waverly huffs out a nervous laugh, but clearly doesn't understand Nicole's question. “You ran after me just now. I figured you needed something?” Nicole explains.

“Oh, yes, God if they gave me a brain I’d be dangerous,” Waverly says, still speaking quickly. “Well, you know I said about the updated exhibits and so forth?” she waits for Nicole to nod. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen it yet, but we have an in-house storage room.”

Nicole shakes her head. “No, I had no idea.”

“Well it’s the creepy ol’ basement, basically. I’m planning on spending my afternoon down there lugging boxes around. I promised I’d offer you minutely less boring work than standing around all day and, well, I wasn’t kidding when I said it wouldn’t be a thrilling alternative.

“You don’t have to,” Waverly adds hastily. “This isn’t me trying to take advantage of your presence here or anything, as we can’t offer extra pay for it. But I just thought since Dave’s in this afternoon you might want a change?”

Dave - with his perfectly generic name to suit his perfectly generic demeanour - was the other member of the security team, part-time because, as he told Nicole, he collects his kids from school some days. 

Although it was untenable for the museum to hire more than one person for regular security duty, there should technically be another member of security-cleared staff on duty often enough.

“That sounds great, thank you,” Nicole says quickly, hoping to stop Waverly from worrying.

“Oh, okay,” Waverly sounds caught out, as though she’d been expecting Nicole to refuse. “Shall I just come and find you when I’m free?”

“Sounds good,” Nicole tells her cheerily.

“Great, well I’d better go prepare. My first appointment will be here in like fifteen minutes.”

They share a cursory goodbye and Waverly hurries off. 

As she goes to open the front doors, Nicole’s internal train of thought shifts from the prospect of tens of screaming kids. Instead, she gets caught up on Waverly’s claim that she doesn't know much about her, Nicole. 

Upon reflection, she hadn’t really shared much about her personal life, although she had realised until that moment. 

It wasn’t an intentional move on her part, and it makes her wonder why she has slipped so easily into offering so little. She wasn’t a secretive person by nature - far from it - but after years of getting by off her own back she can only think that maybe it’s become a habit. 

In a sense, it is an unsettling thought and Nicole feels a little uncomfortable playing it over. Perhaps, then, the arrival of their numerous young students can be a welcome distraction for now.

A preferable thought, however, as she watches a troupe of them head up the road two-by-two, is the memory of Waverly insisting that she is interested in knowing Nicole better. 

 

 

 

 

 

By midday Nicole can only accept that the idea of those kids being a  _ welcome _ distraction was fatally flawed thinking on her part. 

In fact, she eats her words within about thirty minutes. The kids are sweet and, primarily, just being kids but it doesn’t change the fact that they are a handful in such large numbers and, if anything, more exhausting than a full day at the Academy.

Mercifully, they leave by the early afternoon, and Nicole gets an hour of peace before Waverly finally tracks her down. 

She arrives with a mug in each hand and a set of keys dangling off one finger by the split ring. 

“ _ Everything _ overran,” she says glumly by way of greeting, blowing a stray wisp of baby hair off her forehead where it has escaped her side braid. “Are you still game for time in the dungeon?”

“Always,” Nicole insists, “especially now I know that we have a dungeon. I could have used that this morning.”

“Were the kids terrible?” Waverly asks guiltily. “I could hear them from my office at one point.” 

“Sorry,” Nicole says hastily. “We did try and keep them in check.” 

Waverly passes one of the mugs to Nicole and indicates the direction they should walk with her elbow and Nicole falls into step with her. 

“No, it was probably a good thing. The assessors at least heard a busy museum and the kids sounded like they were having fun, even if maybe that had the opposite effect for you guys.”

“They were definitely having fun,” Nicole assures her. “Honestly, they were good really. Just kids, you know? Excitable and full of energy. They engaged with everything most of the time. They just did it  _ super _ loudly,” Nicole observes, fiddling with the back of her own braid as they pass through the locked door into the staff-only area. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help like I intended - I had a whole zero meetings scheduled when we first approved the booking,” Waverly replies heavily. 

“It’s fine, really. We all managed and you’ve got more than enough on your plate right now.” 

“Still, I don’t want to be distant, you know? I want to get involved.” 

Waverly’s voice is casual enough, level and measured to a fault, but Nicole knows how it feels to need reassurance and have nowhere, really, to turn for it. 

“You’re doing a good job,” she says firmly. “I know I don’t know much about this stuff so it probably doesn’t mean a lot - ”

“It does,” Waverly says quickly. “Thank you for saying so.” 

“Well, it’s the truth.”

Waverly hums a cordial, wordless response and points Nicole in the direction of a doorway she has never had cause to use. It leads along a short corridor and down a set of steep, concrete stairs. The air is noticeably different here, only slightly colder but naturally so, without the feel of air conditioning behind it. 

To fill the silence, although it isn’t awkward or in need of filling per se, Nicole gives voice to something she has been thinking about since the kids left earlier. Absurdly, she almost feels a little nervous.

“So, I was thinking on what you were saying at the meeting this morning. We didn’t go to a heap of museums when I was a kid, my family were always the outdoors types - hiking, camping that kind of thing. But I remember this one time in particular that we went to a natural history museum and they had this arts and crafts room at the back. It was nothing fancy or anything, just acrylic paints and glitter glue. But they got the kids to make something basic that they could take home with them. In fact, I can’t even remember what it was that I made now. And I’m really  _ not _ that kind of person - I’m lucky if I can sew buttons back onto my shirts - but I do remember that, at six, I enjoyed it a lot. 

“I was just thinking because you have that empty room out the back. It’s kind of cold but a portable heater and a bunch of bouncy kids would probably cure that. Since you have that arrangement with the cafe next door, parents could just drop their kids off for half an hour and get a coffee or go to the shop, since Christmas is coming up and all. It’s probably dumb, but I just kept thinking about it after everything today. Plus you told me you want more interactive stuff going on the other morning.”

They reach the bottom of the staircase and pause at a large, locked door. Waverly fumbles with the large cluster of keys, looking for one in particular.

“You remembered that!” Waverly says as she searches, visibly delighted. 

“Of course,” Nicole tells her with slightly puzzled enthusiasm, unable to fully fathom Waverly’s surprise.

Waverly blinks quickly. “Yes, sorry,  _ obviously _ you did. I didn’t mean that about you or anything.”

“I got you don’t worry. Good at listening, bad at ideas for museums,” Nicole says in jest.

“No, no,” Waverly hurries to reply. “It’s a great idea, I mentioned a holidays thing to start small but I  _ have _ been thinking about trying to get a regular kids’ club together. I seriously love the arts and crafts thing. If we get extra funding like I hope, then we could use some if for some supplies. I’m sure we could get a few extra volunteers in - there’s sometimes a waiting list around this time of year.” 

She finally finds the right key and struggles with the stiff, aged lock for a moment, before opening a heavy door inwards to a pitch black expanse within. Eventually a sensor light flickers on and Nicole is met with the sight of rows upon rows of shelving units, crammed with an assortment of boxes and cases.

“Welcome to the archive room,” Waverly says unenthusiastically. “We have pretty much zero storage compared to most, and half the stuff in here isn’t even relevant to our museum anymore. Fun fact: this place started out as a general history museum, so we have  _ so _ much random crap down here that we can’t get rid of. And if it’s cold upstairs then it’s always freezing down here, aka the creepiest place on earth.” 

Nicole gets the creepy vibe as soon as she walks in, but it’s kind of a cool space too. She tells Waverly so, and she concedes that it is a fair point. 

“Yeah, plus most places don’t actually have this kind of thing onsite, which is cool I guess. They mostly pay for storage, which we  _ definitely  _ can’t afford on top of the upkeep of this.” 

“How come the museum changed?” Nicole asks, voice echoing very slightly around the cavernous room. The air here is still, thanks - probably - to minimal ventilation and air disturbance. The space is surprisingly large, evidently running underneath the whole building. Still, Nicole can see how it isn’t really fit for purpose anymore.  

“A curator back in the late forties or early fifties did it,” Waverly tells her without hesitation and Nicole isn’t remotely surprised that she knows the history of even the building itself. “The war years sucked for everyone and then, after that the Cold War was brewing; morale was just super low. There was this big drive to re-engrain the spirit of North America back into public psyche, discourage un-Americanism and that sort of thing. 

“I guess he just picked up on that, and started shifting the focus of the museum to the old American frontier days. He painted the picture we’re used to seeing in popular culture: settlers’ rights to be here, the will of God, all that kind of thing. If you believe in lying by omission then basically it did the trick. I don’t think the museum has been as popular, or as well funded, as it was back in the fifties.” 

Nicole laughs to herself as she follows Waverly around. The space between shelving units necessitates a single file, and Nicole does her best to take in as many of the objects as she can. 

Waverly, clearly already well-versed in the room’s layout, glances back over her shoulder to look at Nicole.

“Yeah sorry, I do the whole ‘long explanation’ thing too much I think.”

“Don’t apologise for something like that, or for enjoying what you do,” Nicole tells her seriously. “Besides, I was thinking the opposite, actually: that you’re the only person I know who can make the history of this building cool to learn.”

Looking back at Nicole again, Waverly rolls her eyes.

“Cool is  _ not _ the word, trust me. But thank you - that was a nice thing to say.”

Nicole shrugs. “Yeah well, I’m not into the whole false praise thing so, again, I was just being honest.” 

“Hey, you wanna see one of the weirdest things in here?” Waverly asks suddenly, transparently moving the conversation along. She comes to a rapid halt without waiting for an answer and Nicole nearly barrels into her. Their hands brush together in the process and Nicole notices how cold Waverly’s fingers are.

“Jeez are you always that cold?” she asks in shock and Waverly chuckles. 

“Yeah, it’s the bad circulation club for me I guess,” she playfully reaches out her free hand and presses it quickly against Nicole’s. “Lifetime member.  _ God _ ,” she adds at the feel of Nicole’s hand, “what are you made out of? The sun? You’re boiling in comparison.”  

Without thinking, Nicole grabs hold of Waverly’s fingers and squeezes them between her own, thinking only to transfer some warmth from her skin to Waverly’s but, good intentions aside, the gesture sort of feels weird - almost too much in some way that Nicole can’t quite pinpoint - right from the moment she does it.

Waverly must feel it too, going slightly stiff at the touch and Nicole would kick herself over personal space boundaries if she didn’t already know from experience that Waverly was incredibly tactile herself.  She always stands or sits close, had batted her hand out at Nicole twice that day at the front door, she bumps their shoulders often and had, after all, touched Nicole’s hand first. 

(So, all told, that probably wasn’t the reason for the shift in the atmosphere between them).

Nicole takes her hand away, just as Waverly moves the interaction along.

“So this thing I was talking about, if you look right there,” she points at the shelf just above her own eyeline. “There’s that little wooden box with the glass front?”

“I see it,” Nicole says, trying to keep her voice casual. The box contains a small object, and Nicole squints to try and make sense of it. It doesn’t really look like anything she can identify, especially in the low light.

In the aisles, many of the tall shelving units blocked out a lot of the overhead lighting. 

“Well the thing inside is actually an adult human foot. We’re not sure of it’s precise origin, geographically speaking, but it dates back to Chinese foot binding traditions. There’s something on the back panel of the box that tells us that the lady lived to an old age, but it’s, what, five inches I guess?” Waverly gives a little shudder as she explains.

“Back in the days of imperialism, collecting macabre stuff like this from all around the world was all the rage,” she adds thoughtfully. 

It is a neat curio and Nicole reacts completely appropriately, but they both sense that the moment is gone.

“Should we make a start on picking out the stuff you need?” Nicole asks after examining the little display box with a little thrill of repulsion, and Waverly nods.

“Good call. The sooner we finish the sooner we can return to the sub-zero temperatures upstairs, as opposed to the sub-sub-zero ones here

 

 

 

 

Time in the vault is meaningless, and it isn’t until Waverly announces that it is approaching five-thirty that Nicole realises how quickly the afternoon has melted away. Waverly stretches, “I think I could do with calling it a day, I have to be somewhere later anyway. Want another coffee before we head off?”

They have made a good start on sorting through the things Waverly needs, and have ticked off three quarters of the list already. 

“Shit, I really would,” Nicole says sincerely as she checks her phone for the time, “but I’m gonna be late for class if I stay past six.”

Waverly pauses. “Class?”

“Yeah, and it’s theory so we’ve got frickin Pinto again tonight. His lectures are always the worst and they last about a hundred years,” Nicole groans. “But I can’t skip it since we have the exam in December.”

“I’m training to be a cop,” she explains when Waverly looks blank, suddenly aware that she hasn’t actually mentioned it before. 

“Oh. I didn’t know,” Waverly replies, looking guilty.

Nicole shrugs, unbothered but painfully aware of their conversation earlier that day.

“No worries. I never said, remember?” she teases and Waverly relaxes.

“I guess, I should have made more of an effort though. However” Waverly says, strongly emphasising the word as a cheeky glint springs her eyes, “I  _ totally _ called it on the superhero training thing.”

Nicole laughs at this, deep and full. 

“So I guess we’re not keeping you here forever then?” Waverly adds quickly, indicating that Nicole should tell all. 

“Well, assuming I don’t flunk out at the last minute,” Nicole says with a grimace, although she knows that this is unlikely (her grades are some of the highest in her group). “But yeah, eventually I’ll move on, sorry,” she jokes. “Like I say, it’s a cool job just...not the dream.”

“And being a cop is?” Waverly asks conversationally and Nicole hums an affirmation. “Always?” Waverly checks.

“Long time actually, yeah. I was twelve when the idea first came about.”

“Huh. I guess that was around the time I started really getting into History too,” Waverly says as she returns the final box back to its shelving unit and they gently gather up their spoils before turning to leave. 

“And you knew you wanted to be a curator?” Nicole asks, a nice feeling blooming in her chest at the conversation. They’ve had many introductory, ‘getting to know you’ conversations before, obviously, but this one feels weighty.

Waverly gives self-effacive laugh. “No, not at all. I don’t think it was until I was a senior that I realised I really stood any chance of getting an actual job in what I liked studying, and even then it was just a case of majoring in History at college and seeing how far I could get. But I think the seeds of interest in the past were taking root around the time I was thirteen.”

“Any particular reason? For the interest in history, I mean?” Nicole opens the door and lets Waverly pass. The doorway is narrow and the basement door is thick and heavy, and Waverly must squeeze through the gap, brushing against Nicole and leaving a wave of  _ something _ in her wake where their bodies connect. 

It is the same something that reared its head when Nicole had grabbed Waverly’s hand earlier.

“Sorry,” Waverly says casually, referring to the momentary contact, before going back to the question. They start climbing the narrow concrete stairs, single file again. They move slowly, acutely aware that they are each carrying a box of fairly delicate items.

“I mean, it was probably just my uncle, really. He and my aunt raised us and he just had a huge thing for history. I guess I absorbed that somehow - he always liked to pass on little facts and tidbits to me.”

Nicole notes the use of the past tense but avoids it in her response.

“He sounds wonderful,” she observes kindly.

“He was,” Waverly says, a little sadly and Nicole senses enough in Waverly's tone to ignore it. Nicole watches from behind as Waverly  gives her head a tiny shake, almost as if to clear it of any lingering sadness. “What about you?" she asks eventually. "How did you decide you were superhero material?”

Nicole snorts. “I’ll let you know if that ever happens. But the cop thing actually came about because I was in a really serious car accident when I was a kid. We made newspapers and everything.” 

They reach the top of the staircase in time for Nicole to see the look on Waverly’s face at the announcement. 

“No shit?” Waverly asks, eyes wide and brows raised.

“Shit,” Nicole confirms. “It was during summer vacation. My dad was at work, so it was just me, mom, and my kid sister. As I said, I was twelve, so Grace would only have been five or six. We were at a junction and some clown ran a stop sign. He ploughed right into the driver’s side, aka the side me and mom were on - Grace always insisted on riding shotgun at that age. Thank God, I guess. 

“Anyway, the force sent the car onto its roof and I remember hitting my head. It wasn’t a serious impact but it knocked me out briefly. I woke up the wrong way up, covered in blood, my arm an absolute mess, and all I could hear other than my ears ringing were sirens and Grace just screaming the car down."

After a brief pause at the top of the stairs, they both start walking slowly again, winding their way through the quiet museum as Nicole continues with her story. 

“As it turned out, Grace was pretty much unharmed, but our mom took the worst of it, she was out cold. Even worse than me, I just swam under for a moment or two. All we could really do was just wait there, our seatbelts kind of keeping us hanging upside down, for help to arrive. And when it did, there were these police officers - they got there before anyone else. I was trying to keep my sister calm while they tried to take my mom’s pulse and vitals, which was all they could do at that point. So after that, this one officer came and checked on us. 

“She had this really good instinct, could tell that I was keeping Grace calm while just about holding it together myself and even though the scene definitely wasn’t cleared as safe she just sat on the floor by my broken window, totally in all the dirt and debris. Obviously we couldn’t really see each other properly but having her there was just...I dunno I can’t explain it really. She talked to me, and her keeping me calm had this knock-on effect of me keeping my sister calm.

“She - the officer - looked out for us when they finally got us out of the car and sent us to the hospital separate from mom. I mean, she really wouldn’t leave our sides until they finally got hold of Dad and he made it there.

“And I guess, up until that point I’d only seen dudes in cop uniforms, handing out tickets or whatever. It didn’t really occur to me either that women did the job too, or that you could find yourself helping people the way she helped us. 

“I think it her being young changed my view on policing too. She was probably around the age we are now, actually. Obviously that doesn’t seem young when you’re a kid, but I think unconsciously I took it in. Anyway, she let me ask her questions to keep me calm while I got my arm checked out and she told me about being a cop - like, all the bits I’d never heard about before. Mostly community care stuff. I think I just felt something click right there and then, even amidst all the shit. 

“I mean, I was totally infatuated with this woman too, let’s just get that out there. Like that thing where you still don’t know that what you’re feeling is a crush because you haven’t learned to recognise it yet,” Nicole jokes (although it is a deliberate move, since she trusts Waverly enough by now, and has been kind of waiting for a way to allude to being gay for a while). She can still remember the clueless, childish way she admired that cop’s curly black hair and deep, dark eyes. 

As the story finally ends, she realises that this is probably the longest she has spoken, uninterrupted, in front of Waverly, and it is certainly the most she has shared. She is glad to have done it, given how noticeably (if not deliberately) vague she has been over the last month.  

When she checks for a reaction (slightly nervous about the move she’d made to half come out), Nicole finds that Waverly is watching her with this look on her face that makes Nicole’s stomach turn over itself.

“That’s - wow. I mean the whole experience must have been terrifying, you were so young. But also, you made something beautiful out of it too - I love that.”

Feeling self-conscious under Waverly’s assessment Nicole just chuckles. 

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Sorry if this is the wrong thing to ask but...what about your mom? And your sister? Were they okay?”

“Oh, yeah it’s fine to ask, don't worry. They both got better eventually. Grace only had a few strains really but it kinda messed with her in other ways. She was so young - she got a lot of nightmares initially and car journeys became this uphill struggle for  _ years _ . Not that I blame her, obviously. She was so young, and they’d probably have said it was PTSD now. But even a few years ago it wasn’t so widely put about, which is shitty.” 

“Tell me about it,” Waverly says bitterly but does not elucidate and Nicole doesn’t push, knowing that Waverly will say more if she wants to. 

By this point, they have made it up to Waverly’s office. For the first time, Nicole goes inside as Waverly indicates wordlessly that they should leave their boxes in one corner of the small room. It is just about closing time, and someone else has done the last sweep of the day, leaving Waverly and Nicole free to get ready to leave and double-lock the front doors on their way out.

Nicole takes a moment to cast her eyes quickly around Waverly's office. The space is small, the desk and other furniture generic and cheaply supplied. Nonetheless, Waverly has made the best of it. Her qualifications are framed on one wall, out of the way and shown - so it seems - out of convention rather than ostentatiousness. There is a full vase of flowers on the windowsill, and some framed photos on Waverly's desk beside her computer. From this angle, Nicole cannot see the glass or what images are protected beneath it. Otherwise, most of the available space seems to be covered with papers or old, battered books which appear to be from Waverly's own collection. 

Waverly darts around the room briefly, shutting off her computer and straightening a few piles of paper. As she does this, she urges Nicole to continue. 

 

“Mom was fine too,” Nicole explains once Waverly has collected her bag and coat, “but it was really hairy. She broke a lot of bones and hit her head really badly. They put her in an induced coma for weeks, just trying to get the swelling down on her brain a bit. Obviously they didn’t really tell me this in so many words at the time, but they were basically convinced she’d end up with brain damage. 

“It was pretty much a medical anomaly when she woke up and made a total recovery. But then, that’s basically my mom - never listens to a word anyone else says if it she has it in her head that her way’s the only way.” Nicole can’t help but let a little bitterness bleed into her voice, but smoothly moves past it before it becomes too obvious. 

On autopilot, the two of them call into the staffroom so that Nicole can collect her own things. This, by now, is completely routine even if Nicole’s lengthy monologue is not. 

“Whereas  _ I,  _ on the other hand, was scarred for life,” she says mock-dramatically and Waverly plays along with a little horrified gasp. 

“You poor little soldier, you,” she jokes and Nicole laughs. “But seriously though, what happened?” Waverly adds, keen to hear the story to the end.

“The force of the other car pretty much shattered my arm, it was kind of nasty,” she says, rolling up her sleeve to show Waverly the pink, puckered skin on the top of her right forearm. As she’d had so much growing to do since then, the scar wasn’t as huge, proportionately, as it had once been but it was an impressive thing nonetheless.

Waverly pulls a suitably surprised face. “Damn, that’s - ” she doesn’t offer an adjective, probably out of politeness, but Nicole isn’t self-conscious about it.

“Yeah, it is,” Nicole agrees. 

They make it out of the front door and Nicole pauses once again to lock up.

“Because it splintered like hell and the bone just, like, came out my arm - sorry, that’s nasty right?” Nicole glances over to read Waverly’s expression.

“Oh I’m all in on the gory details, don’t worry about it,” Waverly says enthusiastically, almost too much so. Nicole remembers, then, the foot in the archive and senses a theme. 

“Well yeah, it was just a lot of that, really - gory details. I had a bunch of operations during the next few months, like pins and everything. Then, because I was still growing I had a ton of PT to do and I was a sporty kid - ”

“Surprise surprise,” Waverly jokes before letting Nicole carry on. Nicole stows her keys away safely and they head in their usual direction down the street.

“- and I was lucky as hell that it healed up and I could still play.” 

“What did you play?” Waverly asks softly. 

“Soccer, mostly. But I did softball too, although I was better by far at swimming, even if I liked it the least. Team sports were always more fun.” 

“Not in it for the glory, huh?” Waverly asks, amused. 

Nicole shakes her head. “Not really, no.”

“That makes sense, what with you wanting to be a cop and all.” 

“I guess so,” Nicole admits. “I never really thought of it like that though.” 

“Well I think it’s awesome Nicole - that something so good came out of a really terrible thing. Seriously, it’s so cool that you turned it into, well, all this.” 

“Thanks,” Nicole says, feeling genuinely flattered. “Assuming it all works out as planned, of course.”

“How much longer do you have left to go?” 

“Just until next summer, if I pass everything.”

“I’m sure you will,” Waverly says and although it’s a standard response to give, something in her voice makes Nicole think that Waverly really believes what she is saying. 

They bypass Waverly’s bus stop that night, as she explains that she is meeting a friend from college for dinner nearby. 

“Hey,” she adds, “I just wanted to say that I really hope you didn’t feel you had to tell me all that stuff because of what I said earlier this morning. It was a dumb way to phrase it - I just meant that you’re a good listener, you’re patient with me even when I’m talking your ear off first thing in the morning. I was always kind of a chatterbox.”

“You’re not talking my ear off, ever,” Nicole reassures her. “I ask because I’m interested, I listen because I care about the answer. I like talking to you.” 

Nicole speaks and she hears her own words acutely, almost as though they are echoing around her own head, clattering through blank space which was just now, in that instant, starts solidifying into something that made sense.

It is like she is telling herself these things even as she speaks them to Waverly. 

Something just clicks into place at her admission, and when her stomach flips at Waverly’s delighted smile, the last piece of the puzzle fits the empty slot.

“I like talking to you too," Waverly says. "I’m just - well, I’m really glad you ended up coming to work at our little museum. I’m glad we got to meet.” Waverly gives Nicole a shy look, slowing down purposefully and Nicole spots what she assumes is Waverly’s intended destination across the road. It gives Nicole little scope to respond directly to Waverly's admission.

“Is that your place?” Nicole asks instead, and Waverly nods. 

“Okay well I’ll let you get on - have a great dinner,” Nicole says and Waverly thanks her, smiling up at Nicole as much from her eyes as from her cheeks. She goes to leave, but Nicole isn’t quite finished. 

“And Waverly?” Nicole adds, and Waverly pauses to look at her. “I’m glad we got to meet too.”

Impossibly, Waverlys smile grows until her face shines and, wordlessly, she continues on her way, glancing back at Nicole one final time. 

Nicole watches Waverly safely into the restaurant, her heart in her mouth. 

At the very last minute, Waverly looks over her shoulder to shut the door and catches sight of Nicole, still standing there across the road.

Waverly gives one last smile, tips a parting wave in Nicole’s direction, and is gone. 

Feeling like an idiot, Nicole gives an enthusiastic wave back before finally leaving.

She realises then that yes, she was a goner. It is beyond her, in fact, how it had taken her so long to be sure of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, most of the museum content here is pulled directly from my own time volunteering in museums. Yes, even the underground storage and lady's foot thing. 
> 
> Anyway, that's all for now - I hope the chapter was good and as I say, would love to hear your thoughts down below, or as ever hmu on twitter. Thanks again for reading, take care!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which many clichéd moments happen. far too many clichés. 
> 
> oh, and it becomes even more obvious that i'm a sucker for an everyone/everyone friendship vibe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well hey again! it's taken me nearly a week to scrabble together enough scraps of time to edit this chapter but i hope you're pleased with the result. it's taken on a fairly different to shape to the first draft written before the story was put up, but i do prefer what i was left with. it's probably the chapter i'm happiest with so far, and i hope it'll be the same for you guys. 
> 
> thank you so much if you've left a comment so far! every time i write a fic i promise myself that i'll reply to each one but atm time just hasn't allowed. i hope for now it's enough to say that it really does mean a lot to me when you take the time to review. hopefully you'll be willing and able to let me know about this one too.

When her phone unexpectedly rings, Nicole is laying on her bed with Jeremy beside her.

He clutches onto a bowl of gelatine-free, post-Hallowe’en candy, shouting encouragement to a fleeing impala, so it’s basically a standard Sunday afternoon for Nicole these days. She pauses _Netflix_ , just as the lionesses start making on their prey and Jeremy howls as badly as if he was the one about to be bitten in the backside.

The screen freezes as the impala makes an impressive leap, and the narrators unobtrusive, soothing voice cuts off mid-commentary.

Nicole has already answered her phone as Jeremy whines at her.

“ _Hey_ you can’t just do that - we’re at a critical moment.”

“Yeah, well, I did,” Nicole says, snagging a gummy worm out of his stash. They never really got too many callers for Hallowe’en, what with being in an apartment complex, but they don’t want to risk disappointing any of the kids that do come round. Plus, they get to live off candy for the following week which is pretty fun.

“Give me that back you have an absolute mountain of non-vegetarian candy right there you thief.”

“Hi Waverly,” Nicole says pointedly down the phone as Jeremy tries to wrestle the candy back off of her. “No, it’s nothing. Just my _idiot_ flatmate.”

Down the phone, Waverly sounds unsure, like she doesn’t really know how she should react to the commotion.

“Did I call at a bad time?”

The gummy worm snaps in two and Jeremy withdraws dejectedly with the much smaller piece.

“You _suck_ ,” he hisses as he eats his own share.

“No, not a bad time,” Nicole says brightly, flashing a bright smile at Jeremy who merely scowls in response.

“Well I’m sorry to call you on a Sunday either way,” Waverly tells her. “And I hope it’s okay that I got your number off the system.”

“Of course. Do you need me in tomorrow?” Monday was usually Nicole’s other day off, and she can’t think of any other reason why Waverly would be calling.

“Actually, yes. Dave just let me know his wife went into labour earlier. He’ll be on leave for a little while now, I guess. I’m going to see if your company will be able to send someone part time to cover his working pattern, but given the choice I’d rather have you there in the meantime than anyone else.” At this Waverly pauses for a moment. “You know, because you know the rotations already and the people and just...it makes more sense. Only if you’re not busy though.”

Nicole had planned to finish some assignments tomorrow, but it was easily rearranged.

“I can switch days, sure. Or pull some overtime. It’s no problem”

On the other end, Waverly sounds relieved. “Thank you so much, Nicole, I seriously appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Nicole repeats, “happy to help.”

“You’re the best, really. Okay, well I won’t disturb your day off anymore. Enjoy...whatever the heck it was you were doing. See you tomorrow.”

Nicole hangs up and tries not to dwell on ‘ _I’d rather have you there in the meantime than anyone else_ ’ or ‘ _you’re the best_ ’. She knows they are just turns of phrase and can’t be taken to mean anything more, but since she’s actually acknowledged that she might, possibly, maybe have a miniscule crush, Nicole has found herself hyper-aware of every small interaction with Waverly, every slip of the tongue or stray look.

She’s not entirely convinced she enjoys just how much everything seems to fall under a microscope now, or the degree to which she finds herself analysing simple things.

Right now, she’s happy pretending that what’s going on is just a minor infatuation, but deep down she’s fairly aware that she hasn’t started on a descent this steep in a pretty long time. Sure, she’s dated on and off a bit recently, fired up _Tinder_ a few times, but there’s not really been anyone who’s, well, lingered…

With Waverly, that feels different even if it’s only been, like, six weeks and they’re still getting to know each other as friends, let alone anything else. Because, for a start, the ‘anything else’ probably isn’t something that runs both ways, although Nicole can’t be totally sure.

Still, the feeling of being around Waverly isn’t like arranging the odd coffee date with someone from a dating app. The kind of arrangements where making out (slash sleeping with) a girl in her box room of her professionals-only house share is probably on the cards.

There’s nothing wrong with that - Nicole has thoroughly enjoyed those times in her life as much as monogamous dating or, indeed, singledom. But with Waverly it’s more about spending all day looking forward to the end of work, not just because it’s the end of work but because - nine times out of ten - she gets to shut up shop with Waverly.  It’s the fact that, during the one percent instances when Waverly isn’t there or isn’t ready to leave, Nicole is always bitterly disappointed.

When it is just Nicole on her own, it is natural to miss the dynamic that plays out between herself and Waverly when there’s a safe cover of darkness blanketed over the museum, and over the two of them by extension. They’re usually both tired and lucid, and they’re kind of weirdly giggly most of the time as they do their final checks - usually making silly jokes or telling outrageous stories based on a display case object or a notable interaction with a customer.

With Waverly, the feelings are more about not hating the thought of getting up every morning, or going into work on Tuesday mornings after two days off. There’s excitement, instead, because it is always a morning well-spent when she is sat in companionable silence with Waverly while they both read over their own important documents.

The thing is, Nicole knows that she is still falling at the moment, that she hasn’t actually plummeted the bottom yet; but she’s going fast and she doesn’t really seem to be able to intervene.

The idea of a work crush is actually pretty undesirable to Nicole - it is never something she’d wanted to add into the mix of her professional life. A crush on Waverly, specifically, feels natural and kind of inevitable when she thinks about it as objectively as possible. These two mutually exclusive factors make the whole thing kind of difficult.

Waverly makes it difficult. She is fun to be around, unfailingly kind and cheery, soft and soothing in a world that feels increasingly hard at times.

The worst part is that, in all her years, Nicole’s had a pretty decent track record of not managing to crush on anyone whose _deal_ she isn’t basically sure of. She doesn’t need to fall prey to the ‘crushing on your straight friend’ trope thank you very much, not when there were already so many other undesirable lesbian tropes out there to avoid. It’s not that she’s certain Waverly is straight, in fact it has been hard to get a definite read on Waverly at all, just that she isn’t, well, _optimistic_ either.

Nicole has been doing her best not to think about...where Waverly’s might lie, not only because it won’t do Nicole herself any good to fixate on that, but primarily because Waverly’s personal life really isn’t any of Nicole’s business.

It is hard not to let her mind run away with itself in these circumstances, but at least Nicole knows that her friends will always bring her back down to the ground with a decidedly turbulent bump.

“ _Oh no worries_ ,” Jeremy parrots suddenly beside her, pitching his voice much higher than Nicole’s. “ _I’m always just_ so _happy to help you Waverly_.”

Nicole delivers a kick to his shin.

“I don’t sound like that and that’s not even what I said.”

“You might as well have done,” Jeremy teases, probably getting revenge for the candy debacle from earlier.

Nicole hasn’t explicitly actually mentioned anything about her feelings to Jeremy or Dolls, but there are some things that she simply doesn’t hide especially well.

She had been forced by the sheer intensity of Jeremy’s teasing in recent days to re-evaluate just how much mentions Waverly. Upon reflection, she is forced to admit that she does so with some frequency and she isn’t being even remotely as subtle as she’d like to believe.

She also suspects that she hasn’t been half as self-aware as she believes she has either, and it has all probably been more obvious to everyone else than it has been to herself.

Weakly Nicole begins to protest.

“It’s not- ”

“I seriously wouldn’t bother,” Jeremy advises her sagely. “You’re really only kidding yourself.”

“You know it’s this kind of brutal honesty that really cements our friendship,” Nicole tells him sullenly, making a point to stuff the stolen candy into her mouth whole.

Jeremy curls his lip exaggeratedly but doesn’t say anything further.

“Plus, are we really going to talk about _obvious crushes_ after your performance at IKEA last weekend?” Nicole points out. It would be quite an unfair move if they weren’t at the stage of their friendship best characterised by the subheading: ‘is it really true love if we’re not being relentlessly rude to each other’.

She’s pretty positive that Jeremy will take it with the good humour that is intended.

“I hate you and I want to go back to the impala thing,” Jeremy says, biting back a laugh as he tries to hit the spacebar on Nicole’s laptop with his foot to resume the video. Nicole, already sat upright and therefore in a better position to move quickly, blocks him easily.

“Oh I think if you’re going to recap my phone conversation then it’s fair game for me to recap last Sunday,” Nicole states, and Jeremy groans and grabs one of Nicole’s pillows in order to cover his face. She hears another groan and a rude comment, both muffled this time.

Almost a week ago to the hour, the three of them had made a trip out to IKEA for a new living room rug, after the last one had had a dramatic accident with a lot of sriracha. It wasn’t really necessary that they all go and, in hindsight, Jeremy had probably come to wish that they hadn’t. They were none of them remotely bothered enough about the look of the rug to have any strong opinions on its successor, so long as it was sriracha-free. Still, as far as Nicole was concerned it would be nice to have an afternoon out, and IKEA was always good fun for a browse anyway.

In fact, in this instance, she’d come home with a little terrarium for her windowsill, a one third ownership in a nice new maroon rug, and  - best of all - a fun new way to wind up her friend.  

Whilst wandering down one of the gigantic aisles, someone had called Jeremy’s name and dipped into their peripheral vision.

Nicole and Dolls had shared a single, incredulous look as, upon seeing a man waving cheerily at him from nearby, Jeremy had blushed claret and adopted the look of a rabbit caught in headlights. This does not improve as the man approached their little party.

Tall and slim, handsome with his long, proud face and dark, well-cut hair the unknown man was objectively cute and Jeremy evidently thought so.

Jeremy doesn’t deign to make any introductions, but he and his friend from work (as they later find out) stand close enough that Nicole and Dolls can hear every word.

Because they enjoy being assholes in a friendly way, but aren’t totally cruel, they eventually feign interest in some nearby bedding sets, stacked conveniently out of earshot. However, they do not manage to make their leave before catching enough of the conversation to know that Jeremy seriously had it bad for this guy.

He’d never mentioned anything about a cute guy from work before and, for all the jokes, Nicole totally respects Jeremy’s right to privacy. Still, he’d come out with some pretty hilarious lines, poor guy, and Nicole and Dolls weren’t about to let him off totally scott free - what were good friends for after all?

Nicole takes mercy on Jeremy, wrestling the pillow from his face and returning it to the bed.

“Okay, truce?” she asks, holding out her hand which Jeremy solemnly takes. “We have to stick together - gay solidarity and all that,” she says.

“Documentary?” Jeremy asks hopefully.

“Yeah you got it buddy,” Nicole says, even rewinding the video a bit to build up a tiny fragment of the lost tension.

The commentary starts up once more amidst some dramatic orchestral music as Nicole lays back again.

She chuckles to herself as, beside her, she hears Jeremy say, “come on little impala,” both extremely quietly and extremely earnestly.

 

 

 

 

Nicole is kind of a sucker for doing people a favour at the best of times, but when that person is Waverly Earp, it seems that she’s pretty much screwed.

Generic Dave takes the next couple of weeks off, and although Nicole isn’t contractually allowed to work the museum’s security consistently on her own, she does take as many extra shifts as she can - just to help out. For the greater good of the museum and all that.  

And yes, money helps too, especially as the festive season approaches (not that Nicole has a huge number of people to buy for, but still).

Mostly though, she’s just bad at saying ‘no’ to Waverly.

That is not to say that Waverly’s actually any good at _asking_ Nicole to take on extra work, either. It’s  more that they’ve achieved some weird method of non-communication about it. Waverly does not seem to want to inconvenience Nicole, while Nicole doesn’t want to leave the museum (read: Waverly) in the lurch.

Their dance usually starts with Nicole asking if the museum has heard back on Dave’s return date with a negative response from Waverly. It leaves Nicole to suggest, with a vague question in her voice, that she attend for one shift or another, at which Waverly insists, at least three or four times, that she doesn’t want to inconvenience Nicole.

Nicole is quick, always much too quick, to insist that it’s no problem, and to any outsider that might see them they must look completely ridiculous.

Even more ridiculous, however, is the lie that doing extra shifts isn’t causing any problems for Nicole.

She has so much extra work to do to prepare for the end of year assessments rush that she should have been working less at the museum, as opposed to more. By the time November starts to draw to a close she’s verging on the point of burning out just to stay on track.

She finds herself staying up until the early hours reading and taking notes, or spending her lunch hour holed up at the staffroom table drawing up essay plans, bullet-pointing at top speed like a woman possessed.

Waverly finds her like that one lunchtime, huddled over a pile of notes about her compulsory police theory module. Her paper is due in a couple of weeks but then again, so are three other papers so it’s kind of a now or never type thing.

On a late lunch to accommodate the limited staff numbers, Nicole pauses in her work at the sound of the door opening, not expecting anyone else to be here at half past two in the afternoon. She goes to move some of her papers around so as not to hog the whole table for herself, when Waverly’s voice stops her.

“Please, if that’s for me then don’t let me disturb you, I’m just getting a drink,” she sounds as tired as Nicole feels, and Nicole knows she isn’t the only one burning the candle at both ends at the moment.

Nicole turns to face her, offering her a small smile.

“I hope that doesn’t constitute lunch,” she jokes in reference to their second meeting and Waverly picks it up immediately.

“Cute,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And no, unlike some people I know I can eat reasonably-sized meals.”

Silently, Nicole raises an eyebrow at her.

“I bought a salad from the store on my way in,” Waverly explains, destroying any weak illusion that she’d put any effort or forethought into her meals.

Nicole doesn’t say anything, but watches idly as Waverly fills the kettle and fishes a fancy-looking box of teabags from one of the cupboards. By now, she knows that a lot of the green tea that Waverly is usually selected not for flavour combination, but depending on what the supermarket is selling off on special offer.

Waverly checks that Nicole hasn’t gone back to her work before speaking.

“That looks like a lot,” she observes vaguely but knowingly, and Nicole nods with a deep sigh.

“Compulsory module,” she explains. “Probably super important but really, really boring too.”

Waverly pulls a face. “And why do I feel like you doing it on your lunch break is kind of my fault?” she asks guiltily.

Nicole shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s fine. I’m the one choosing to try and cram too much into my days right now. Besides,” Nicole speaks fast, sensing that Waverly is about to protest, “technically it’s Dave’s fault,” she points out, making it clear that she’s joking.

“Dave’s wife’s fault, actually,” Waverly says, playing along. “Having a baby right now and all.”

“Selfish, selfish woman,” Nicole agrees faux-solemnly and it makes Waverly laugh, lifting some of the guilt off of her face.

“I am sorry though,” Waverly returns, frowning. “You can say ‘no’ to shifts okay?”

“I know, I know,” Nicole concedes, setting her pen down for a moment and stretching her neck. “I just want to help. I know it’s easier when it’s someone who knows the team and the procedures.”

“Just...we haven’t done anything to make you feel you have to say ‘yes’, right?” Waverly presses, and suddenly Nicole understands the reassurance she is seeking.

“God, no. No it’s not that at all. I really am happy to help, I guess I’m just not managing my own expectations well. Like, in terms of what I can actually do.”

Waverly gives a small smile. “I kind of get that. And I really appreciate you helping us, everyone here does. You’re a great asset to the team.”

“Well I like it here,” Nicole tells her, realising for the first time that it’s true. The job is still mind-numbing but, well, there are certain other factors at play now. “I like...the team,” she says, inexplicably bold all of a sudden as she goes to pains to make it entirely clear that she is only talking about one person.

Waverly colours adorably, cheeks going rosy and neck pink in places.

“I uh, I’m glad that you do,” Waverly says quickly. Nicole feels a bite of frustration - _she’s a colleague_ , she chides herself internally.  

The kettle boils with a hard click, loud as an explosion in the silence that settles between them.

Waverly hurries to make her tea - she has one of those giant mugs that practically uses half a kettle of water and so she makes a meal of pouring and stirring and swilling the teaspoon under the tap. Nicole knows she should stop watching, should go back to her work to try and minimise some of the tension she feels she has caused. Still, knowing is not akin to doing, and she waits for Waverly to finish clearing up anyway.

When Waverly eventually turns around again, clutching so tightly to the handle of the mug that Nicole can see her knuckles, she is no less pink than before.

“I’ll let you get on with your work now,” she says, turning to leave. By design, it would seem, she stops deliberately in the doorway, turning back towards the room.

“Oh, and Nicole? Um,” she pauses, drawing in a shaky breath, “ _the_ _team_ likes you too.”

Nicole’s heart does a somersault in her chest, even as she hears Waverly’s overly fast footsteps retreat down the hall.  

As she settles back to work for the last fifteen minutes of her lunch hour, Nicole wills herself not to read too much into the response. It wasn’t for nothing that people joked that flirting with other women is hard to decode, and when being nice comes as easily to Waverly as breathing, Nicole knows she is safer taking the response simply as a compliment.

And yet, despite her best efforts, she floats around for the rest of the day, so much so that Jeremy doesn’t even need to ask her why she arrives home after class in such a good mood, Dolls in tow with a knowing, slightly exasperated look in place.

Behind her back the two of them exchange their understanding looks, but have the good grace to stay silent.

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly is the kind of colleague to give everyone personalised Christmas cards as soon as the first weekend of December rolls around, because _of course_ she is.  

Nicole’s card - the design a quirky cartoon robin in a glittery, red Christmas sweater - comes with a sweet little heart dotted above the ‘i’ in her name, and a box of really quite decadent chocolates intended as a thank you for all her extra help over the past month (nevermind that she was getting paid for it).

Waverly provides a few boxes of the more generic kind for the staffroom, but the special treatment (and much welcome sugar boost) doesn’t go unnoticed by Nicole.

Nicole doesn’t have class on Saturday nights and so, that same weekend, she stays behind to help Waverly and a few others put up a small mountain of tinsel and other assorted festive decorations.

It turns out at the longer serving staff members have strong ideas about the aesthetic of the decorations, and there is a string of well-established banter that comes along with it. Nicole and Waverly amuse themselves with it for a short while, before eventually slinking off to the back rooms to run riot in there, so that two of the front of house staff can playfully fight over the shop display - namely the tree itself - and slink off to one of the back rooms to run riot there instead.

A week or so earlier, they’d put out their first fliers for the kids’ art club - as per Nicole’s suggestion months before - and were due to have their first group next week, so the room needed to be as cheery as possible.

As soon as they are alone, Nicole thanks Waverly for the chocolates. As she speaks, she wrestles a step-ladder to one side of the room and climbs up, indicating that Waverly should hand her something to stick up along the length of the room.

“Are they okay?” Waverly asks as she untangles a length of gold tinsel from a battered cardboard box. “I know they were a bit fancy, not everyone’s thing, but I thought you deserved a treat.”

Her back to Waverly as she tapes up the first bit of tinsel, Nicole smiles to herself.

“Another one?” Nicole jokes. “I think that’s what you call spoiling me. Honestly, they’re lovely, I can’t wait to open them. In fact I’m probably going to have to hide them from my housemates or they’ll disappear,” Nicole says, and also makes a mental note to keep them away from Calamity Jane. “But you really didn’t have to get me anything,” Nicole insists as she turns back for more tinsel.

Waverly is ready and waiting, and she hands Nicole another identical gold piece and a fresh stock of tape. Nicole turns back to the wall again.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Waverly tells her. “Not many people would have done that for us; all that hard work meant a lot and I appreciate you - I mean it.  I appreciate _it_.”

“Well I appreciate your gift, a lot,” Nicole tells her smoothly and, behind her, she hears Waverly exhale.

With one ill-advised stretch that leaves her leaning right off the ladder, Nicole finishes hanging the first length of tinsel. She climbs down to check it looks even.

“Okay, next one?” she asks once she’s satisfied with her first attempt.

“Yep, once I’ve untangled this lot,” Waverly says, bent at the waist and half engulfed in the enormous cardboard box. “Oh, _crap_ ,” she hisses to herself, evidently in a tangle.

Amused, Nicole heads over.

“Do you need a hand?” she asks, hurrying to one of the edges of the box, right as Waverly shoots back up with a triumphant cry.

“Ha, nope! Wasn’t gonna let it beat m- ” Waverly’s voice sticks in her throat and Nicole can’t really say she blames her.

Once Waverly is upright again it brings them much closer than either had anticipated. It causes them both to stop in their tracks for a moment, gazes meeting across the small gap between them.

Waverly might need to tilt her head upwards to fully look at Nicole, but their faces are still close together, much closer than their prior interactions have ever necessitated. At this distance, Nicole can see a tiny, tiny number of freckles on the bridge of Waverly’s nose, and is keenly aware of the pretty birthmark on her cheek.

Waverly doesn’t bother to pick up her sentence, the silence dragging taut between them like a momentary tug of war - someone would need to break the quiet first.

Waverly doesn’t seem in any hurry to do so, however, as she pauses and allows the focus of her gaze to alternate between Nicole’s eyes and lips. As Waverly does so, it leaves Nicole with a tiny, absurd notion that Waverly could lean in and join their lips together, even if Nicole ultimately knows that it won’t happen.

More likely, however, is the notion that Nicole might give in to the urge to close the distance between them herself. She wants to, God does she want to, in fact she feels as though she might die from the ache in her chest that springs up in this quiet, tender moment. Waverly looks so painfully beautiful this close up, skin shining like starlight in the pale light of the half-lit room.

The day has been long, and Waverly hair has fallen out of her braid in so many places that her baby hair is sticking out near her ears. The last of her makeup is fading too, and Nicole doesn’t think she has ever seen so beautiful a sight as Waverly Earp standing this close; messy-haired, bare-faced, and tired as hell.

Before she can do something so incredibly stupid as kiss her colleague, Nicole takes a wild, instinctive step backwards. The distance she creates is far too pronounced and it creates a veritable chasm between them, but it feels safer this way. It feels like there is less chance of her ruining a good friendship by kissing her almost certainly currently straight-identified sort-of boss.

After a moment when they both seem to mentally right themselves, Waverly leans forward and dumps the next set of decorations in Nicole’s arms, accidentally brushing their hands together as she does so. Ironically, there is a sprig of fake, plasticky mistletoe caught awkwardly amongst the tinsel. Wordlessly, Nicole fishes it out and puts it back in the box.

Neither of them speaks as Nicole makes her way to the next part of the room, dragging the stepladder along using her foot. It scrapes horribly against the scuffed floor and the sound echoes in the cold air, almost worse than the awkwardness from before and certainly worse than their prolonged silence.

“Music!” Waverly says, so suddenly it actually makes Nicole jump a little. “We should listen to Christmas songs while we decorate.” She fumbles for her phone without waiting for a response from Nicole and before long Britney Spears starts playing quietly. The merry love song feels slightly forced but it at least puts something between them besides silence.

Nicole ascends the ladder and they resume their roles, things eventually thawing as Waverly unconsciously starts singing along under her breath by the time Mariah starts playing. (Waverly is using _Spotify_ and the playlist is kind of predictable which, in this instance, proves helpful).

Nicole hums too and, before long, they’re both singing a little more loudly, self-consciousness ebbing, as they work. They laugh nervously when an unexpected advert ruins the the mood, and then they laugh (properly laugh) even more when they try to sing along to _Ring Out, Solstice Bells_ and realise simultaneously that they barely know any of the words. They are packing up when it comes on, and their lack of inhibition is at its peak.

The song is one that requires some gusto, and so they give it just that, making up lyrics or just singing nonsensical, wordless notes if nothing comes to mind.

It is stupid and kind of freeing, and it gets to the point that they’re both laughing too much to sing anymore and Waverly has to dab at the corner of her eyes when the song is finally over. They pretty much finish clearing up at the same time, admiring their handiwork as Waverly turns both the music and the room’s lighting off.

Things are almost, _almost,_ back to normal by the time they leave the museum and make their usual way along the street. The journey is an unconscious one by now, and they are so used to each other’s presence that they fall into step immediately. They chatter away like normal, discussing inane things like the latest poppy earworm on the radio and the unseasonably mild December weather, and it feels mundane and blissfully nice to share these moments with Waverly.

The streets are busier even than normal for a Saturday night, the public lights having gone on early this year. They have missed the countdown, but it is nice to see the place all lit up already. Without competition, however, it is Waverly that glows the brightest beside Nicole and, when they part by the bus stop as normal, Nicole can barely shake the feeling that, an hour or two ago, she really should have kissed Waverly Earp.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the tension-laden moment decorating the museum, it is a good job they managed to get back on track that same night, because there wouldn’t have been a chance in the days that followed.

Still, it is obvious that things have shifted now. The obvious tension that had been there between them seems to burrow into them both and stay there, pumping round their bodies in their bloodstreams. It is evident almost constantly.

There is nothing wrong, per se, but there _is_ something different and they just don’t have the time for the kind of interaction needed to really address whatever is going on.

Nicole’s classes kick into overdrive, and while half the group had been on placement this semester, she now has to shop around to submit her three choices for her own practical placement during the Spring. This comes on top of finals and Generic Dave’s well-timed return to the museum, so Nicole is finally forced to concede defeat and drop her working hours down for a week. She is thankful, at least, that she had already worked enough overtime to save up some decent money.

Waverly herself is busy and perhaps the most outwardly stressed anyone has seen her. Waverly’s version of anxious and short-tempered just seems to be a less openly friendly version of herself; sunny personality toned down to most people’s everyday demeanours. Nonetheless, it is noticeable enough to, well, everyone - Nicole would ask Waverly about it either if it were her place to do so, or if their paths actually crossed all that much over the next week or so.

Nicole sees Waverly enough to tip her a wave now and then, most notably while she is helping supervise the kids’ club one afternoon, ruing the day she ever suggested such an idea.

Like her, half the volunteers are students (although mostly in History or Heritage studies, decidedly unlike Nicole), so with finals on the horizon, the volunteer numbers are slim and they can’t run the club without a certain ratio of adults to kids.

As noisy and messy as it all is though, it’s actually kind of fun; covering something in poster paint is a marked improvement on anything else she does here day-to-day.

Nicole is engaging a tiny little girl with long, dark pigtails in a thrilling discussion about the Romans one day, when she spots Waverly looking in on proceedings.

Mostly, Waverly watches Nicole and the little girl with a deep, contemplative look on her face. She must be pretty enthralled in one train of thought or another, because it takes her a while to notice that Nicole has caught Waverly watching _her_.

Eventually, their eyes meet properly and Waverly gives Nicole a big smile.

They share a wave, and Waverly surreptitiously pulls a face at the kid, intended to express how cute she is. Nicole nods earnestly in agreement. That is all the interaction they manage though, because the kid is as imperious as she is adorable, and she notes Nicole’s wavering attention without a great deal of approval. She voices the sentiment, also adorably, with her arms crossed and her eyebrows knotted together.

Well and truly told, Nicole turns her attention back to her newest and second smallest friend for a moment. When she chances a glance at the doorway again, Waverly is gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In spite of the sleep deprivation, the sheer numbers of kids at the museum, the countless papers, and three early-December exams the upshot of every stressful moment is that Nicole manages to drag herself out the other side.

The truth is, there wasn’t really much of an alternative - not submitting a paper or sitting an exam simply wasn’t an option. As fatalistic as it sounds, the ‘no alternative’ pep talk is usually something that gets her through academic stress.

Tired but feeling optimistic, she and Dolls traipse out of their last ever winter exam together and head out into the cold, hats over their heads and hands buried deep in their pockets. They compare questions as best they can with their voices muffled beneath a scarf (Dolls) or coat collar (Nicole), and bustle off to meet Jeremy downtown as the city creeps to life on a Saturday evening.

Jeremy too had had a stressful few weeks, pulling a lot of overtime and barely present in the flat at all except for very early in the morning or very late at night. He and Nicole had only really crossed paths when he blearily came home late and she’d still been up writing frantically and mainlining coffee at the kitchen table.

Consequently, he had suggested, via the flatmates group chat since they barely had time to speak in person, that they go out to celebrate the end of finals-slash-overtime, and to get in the mood for the holidays. They were none of them exceptionally big partiers (in fact, they were more likely to drink too much together at home than out and about - with Nicole and Jeremy making an exception or two in Pride month), so even though Nicole couldn’t recall the last time she felt so tired, she’d happily agreed to go.

She didn’t envisage it being a big one, and she knew the three of them always had a good laugh once they finally dragged themselves out and into town.

The chosen bar tonight isn’t their usual haunt and Nicole isn’t really sure what to expect. However, it is almost equidistant from the flat, Jeremy’s head office, and the lecture halls the academy rented out for exam purposes, so she is going with it.

Arriving after a short but freezing walk, she finds herself feeling pleasantly surprised with Jeremy’s selection. It is rustic-looking (arguably hipster to a limited degree), with darkwood tables and the sort of decor that looks like it belongs in a garden shed or log cabin. Nonetheless it all comes with a toned down, laid back vibe that pretty much ticks all of their boxes for the kind of night out they need, given that they are all feeling so damn tired.

They find Jeremy tucked away in a window booth, larger than they need but a better option than the other, cramped tables for two. He has ordered drinks and procured menus by the time Nicole and Dolls arrive, and is keen to hear all about their final exam as they browse the food options.

“I think you order at the bar,” Jeremy tells them when they finally decide to share a number of smaller dishes between them rather than try and choose from the very varied menu.

Dolls chortles quietly to himself and both Nicole and Jeremy send him questioning looks.

“You ‘think’,” he says gently, still smiling but evidently not convinced by Jeremy’s choice of words. “Haven’t you been here just recently?”

Jeremy narrows his eyes.

“Maybe,” he says guardedly but the implication is enough to set a lightbulb off above Nicole’s head.

“With work guy?” she asks quickly, dropping her voice for no reason whatsoever (well, you never know who might be around).

“It’s close to work, it was late, it was _nothing_ ,” Jeremy stresses quickly.

“Who suggested it?” Dolls asks, popping an olive from a bowl on the table into his mouth.

“He did,” Jeremy says quietly, “but it’s not like that, which is why I didn’t tell you guys. How did you even know, anyway?” he asks, glaring at Dolls.

“I know everything,” Dolls says calmly, smirking as he swallows and goes in for another olive.

“I can’t believe you sat on that information,” Nicole says pointedly and Dolls shrugs.

“I’m not _that_ mean.”

“ _Hey_ , I resent that. I would have only teased him about….” she pauses, turning to Jeremy, “actually, what _is_ work guy’s name?”

“I’m not going to tell you, you’ll only look him up online,” Jeremy says, crossing his arms and pouting.

“Perry,” Dolls supplies, chewing thoughtfully “Crofte, I think,” he adds, timing it deliberately, and the whole thing elicits a fantastic reaction from Jeremy.

He rapidly uncrosses his arms and throws his hands up around his head with a frustrated cry.

“Dude? What the hell? How do you know _that_ as well?”

Smirking again, Dolls laughs. “ _Everything_ , Chetri. I know it. Don’t test me.”  

“I bet it’s actually a super boring reason,” Nicole says suspiciously and Dolls gives her a conformational wink when Jeremy isn’t looking. He mouths the word _work_ and Nicole nods, biting back a grin. Dolls has already done the placement side of his rotation, and it’s not really a huge stretch of the imagination to work out that he’d been in contact with a cyber security team for one of his cases.

“Well I officially hate both of you, and was totally going to get up and order for us but you,” he shoulder barges Dolls ineffectually, “can do it yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” Nicole says, laughing as they start to bicker, “I got it - just, behave yourselves or whatever.”  

The place has really packed out by the time Nicole gets up to the bar, although the staff seem to have the Saturday rush down to a fine art as she gets served pretty quickly.

There’s going to be a wait for food, so she orders another round of drinks while she’s at it. A tall, dark-haired woman comes up at her side, ordering two glasses of wine and accidentally bumping into Nicole as she fishes some bills out of her purse.

“Shoot, sorry,” she says quickly, “it’s rammed in here.”

Nicole dismisses the apology just as fast. “Tell me about it, no worries.”

Meeting Nicole’s gaze, the other woman smiles.

“I’m usually used to elbowing girls in like, the shoulder or Jesus sometimes the head or something. Gotta be quick to apologise.”

Nicole takes her in; pretty, long hair, big earrings and almost taller than Nicole herself (if you ignore the woman’s heeled shoes against Nicole’s almost flat boots, giving her the slight advantage in this instance).

Nicole understands the height thing and laughs.

“Oh my God, yes. The _most_ awkward thing.”

The woman leans in conspiratorially as they wait for their drinks.

“Worse still if you accidentally sock ‘em in the chest.”

Nicole pulls a sympathetic expression. “It happens more than people think.”

“It _does_ ,” the woman agrees emphatically, laughing. “I’m happy to meet someone who sympathises, unlike this one over here - the shortest of all my friends.” She nods her head to her left and raises her voice so that someone standing on her other side, unseen by Nicole thanks to their positions at the bar, can hear.

When the woman’s friend responds, there is no need whatsoever for Nicole to see her - recognition (and the associated increase in heart rate) flares up immediately. She would probably recognise Waverly Earp anywhere.

“Shut up,” Waverly says, pretending to whine. “I’m literally five centimetres shorter than you when you take your stupid shoes off.”

“Of the two of us, shutting _up_ is what you need to do. It might add some height to your tiny elf self,” the woman - Waverly’s friend, presumably - bats back.

Nicole hovers indecisively for a moment, unsure whether to announce herself. She is happy to see Waverly out and, evidently, about to enjoy herself but, on the one hand, there is still that slight air of awkwardness between them. Plus, she’s never actually hung out with Waverly outside of the museum - walking to the bus stop decidedly does not count - so she isn’t really sure what the parameters are. Are they just that friendly to each other because of work? Does it extend further?

On the other hand, Nicole knows that Waverly’s attempts at friendship (a word she needs to retain a heavy emphasis upon) are genuine, and that it would be super weird to just not say hi so, when she speaks again, she raises her voice enough for Waverly to hear.

“Hey Waverly,” she says, voice singsong, and it causes her new barmate to double take.

Just as quickly, Waverly shoots forward as far as the wood of the bar will accommodate, her head poking into view around her friend.

“Oh my God you freaked me out just then,” she says, hand drifting to her chest to indicate her surprise. She hurries around her friend to speak more easily to Nicole.

“Sorry,” Nicole says, running a hand through her hair but making it clear in her voice that she doesn’t mean it. “But when your friend here started talking about short people I just thought ‘that can only be about one person’,” she adds with a cheeky grin.

“You jerk,” Waverly groans, aiming a soft kick at Nicole’s foot.

“Just kidding,” Nicole tells her innocently, “but also kind of not.”

Waverly shakes her head despairingly at Nicole before changing the subject.

“Did you just get out of your exam?”she asks and, when Nicole nods, adds a follow up. “Was it okay? I’m sure you aced it.”

“I don’t know about that, but it was better than expected,” Nicole explains mildly. “I’m out with some friends to celebrate, actually.”

“Oh, well we are too,” Waverly tells her. “Rosie’s PhD just came through. She’s officially Dr. Bustillos now,” Waverly says proudly.  

“Nice, congratulations,” Nicole tells Waverly’s friend, who smiles widely.

“We were gonna eat here,” Waverly explains, “but it got super packed so we’ll probably check out somewhere else in a bit.”

It is clear that Waverly is just making conversation, but Nicole can already feel herself responding before she really has time to think through what she is about to say.

“Oh, well we have one of the booths by the window and there’s only three of us,” she says, ploughing on before she can stop herself. “If you did want to stay then you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

The words keep coming and they are out of her mouth before she can do anything about it.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang out with Waverly (quite the opposite) and her friend seems great, but the thought of recovering from their slight lapse of awkwardness with a three-person audience feels like too much.

She feels deep and immediate remorse for the comments made to Jeremy already tonight, and she berates herself, too, for any and all Perry reference she has made in the last month.

“Oh, well - are you sure?” Waverly says in that tone of voice used to build up to a polite declination. “You don’t want us gatecrashing, do you?”

“Oh no, I offered,” Nicole insists, having backed herself into this corner already.

“Yeah Waves, she offered,” Waverly’s friend, Rosie, says pointedly as their drinks all arrive at once. She passes a glass of wine to Waverly and keeps one for herself while Nicole struggles with her own order. Helpfully, Rosie grabs one. “Look, I can even be useful this way too.”

There is a clear undercurrent to what Rosie is saying but, having just met her, Nicole really isn’t privy to it.

“And your friends?” Waverly begins.

“Totally won’t mind,” Nicole finishes for her. “I mean, they’ll enjoy the company too. I gotta say, it’s good to see you not buried behind seven separate mountains of paper. I thought you’d grown roots.”

“To be fair, the paper mountains couldn’t have been that big if you could still see her sitting down,” Rosie interjects smoothly, picking up the short joke again and sending Nicole into another round of laughter.

It breaks some of the tension as they each try to be polite and, without further discussion, Nicole leads them back to her table.

“Guys, I’ve brought company,” Nicole announces to Dolls and Jeremy, handing around the drinks as they all bustle to arrange themselves in the booth.

“I hope we’re not gatecrashing,” Waverly says immediately, positioning herself next to Nicole and opposite Rosie. Both Dolls and Jeremy both hurry to insist otherwise.

As soon as everyone is settled, Rosie - now sitting beside Dolls - turns her attention back to Nicole as soon as everyone it settled.

“Even though it’s kind of been done already, I’m Rosita,” Rosie says, sticking out her hand for Nicole to shake, before doing the same to Dolls and Jeremy. “Or Rosie, if you’re her,” she adds, indicating to Waverly.

“Or a lot of other people, she’s just being contrary,” Waverly contextualises with a glower.

Whatever sentiment the look is meant to convey, Rosita either doesn’t listen or, more likely, ignores it.

“You can only be the _famous_ Nicole,” Rosita says, totally unperturbed by the look Waverly continues to send her.

“Can I?” Nicole asks, slightly puzzled.

“Oh yeah,” Rosita says immediately, with a little too much enthusiasm. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Nicole glances hurriedly to Waverly, sat beside her and fixing her eyes on Rosita.

“Oh, I - ”

“Don’t worry if you can’t say the same about me,” Rosita continues on breezily.

“Rosita is my friend from college,” Waverly says quickly, cheeks red.

“Oh, your roommate?” Nicole asks, putting two and two together and Waverly brightens.

“Yeah I got stuck with her and couldn’t get rid,” Waverly says, happy to demonstrate that she has, in fact, mentioned Rosita before even if not by name.

“Speaking of roommates, this is Dolls and Jeremy,” Nicole says hastily, happy to take the spotlight off herself for a moment or two with further introductions. “Dolls is training at the Academy with me, Jeremy is a secret agent - we literally don’t know what he does.”  

“That is _so_ not true,” Jeremy says quickly. He is wedged into the corner beside Dolls and leans forward to be better seen by the whole table. “I work in IT.”

“Sounds generic enough to be something a secret agent would say,” Rosie tells him and Nicole gives her an approving look.

“Yes! _Thank you_. Anyway guys this is Waverly, my friend from work, and Rosita who I too have only just met. They couldn’t get a table so I suggested they join us.”

“I hope that’s okay,” Waverly says quickly. “We can just finish our drinks and go if it’s a problem.”

Jeremy sends Nicole a triumphant look across the table.

“Oh no, not at all. Stay as long as you like,” he says cheerily.

“Absolutely,” Dolls chips in. “We’re happy to finally meet you, since we have heard a _lot_ about you.”

This time, it is Nicole’s turn to blush. She kind of wants the ground to swallow her up as soon as possible. She knows Dolls and Jeremy would never do anything truly embarrassing, and that they respect her boundaries as much as she does theirs, but she could happily live without Waverly knowing just how much she mentions her at home.

The problem is, she does it a lot so Jeremy and Dolls have a lot of ammunition if they are so inclined. It happens unconsciously half the time, so there’s probably more than Nicole herself remembers. Her job is repetitive and boring, and the only bright spots in every dull, samey day are the ones punctuated by Waverly’s presence. She mentions her because their interactions are often the only things worth noting. At least, that’s the story she is running with in her own mind.

From her spot on the opposite side of the table, Rosita looks like she is having a field day and it finally clicks into place that she is teasing Waverly in much the same way that Dolls and Jeremy are messing with Nicole.

The realisation makes Nicole’s stomach turn over.

If that is the case, then Waverly must mention Nicole outside of work too, enough that her friend has picked up on it. This will undoubtedly be enough to kick Nicole’s over-thinking process into warp speed later, but in the meantime at least they can be embarrassed together.

As Jeremy and Rosita strike up easy conversation, Waverly leans into Nicole. It feels nice, the way she fits snugly against Nicole’s side. Her hair tickles Nicole’s cheek slightly, and the smell of her perfume gives Nicole a warm feeling of familiarity in her chest.

“We’ve made a very grave mistake by introducing our friends,” Waverly whispers. “I’m pretty sure we’ve just created a monster.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Interfering friends aside, spending time with Waverly away from work is mainly just a lot of fun.

The five of them gel pretty much immediately, managing to skip any stilted introductions for easy, natural interaction.

Nicole remembers a past conversation in which Waverly had described Rosita as inwardly quite reserved, shy and guarded even, but her outward persona is humorous and outgoing enough that she has pretty much ingratiated herself into Nicole’s group before their food even arrives.

Nicole, Jeremy, and Dolls had ordered enough for an army, and they encourage Waverly and Rosita to take a share of their own. It leads Jeremy and Waverly fall into a conversation about the perils of restaurant vegetarian food, and throughout the night they all find common ground over small things in a similar way.

Halfway through the night, Waverly gets Nicole’s attention with a gentle brush of her hand against Nicole’s arm. Skin connects where Nicole’s sweater sleeves are pushed up to the elbow, and Nicole can’t control the visible shiver that passes through her.

“Would any of you guys mind if my sister joined us?” Waverly asks Nicole directly. “She was meant to be flying in tomorrow for a visit, but they called her this morning to bump her flight up - they’re expecting a huge snow storm in Alberta overnight.”

Nicole spreads her palms.

“The more the merrier,” she says lightly. “Although the exhaustion is starting to hit so I’ll apologise if we’re increasingly terrible company.”

“You’re great company,” Waverly says quickly, voice serious.

Nicole goes to reply but Waverly’s phone rings and she shoots an apologetic look.

“Sorry that’ll be my sister,” she says as she answers with a cheery _‘hey, sis_ ’. She checks on her sister’s ETA, and describes their seat so that she can find them.

She keeps the conversation quick and, at the very end adds, “yeah well I came out with Rosita but I bumped into a friend, so there’s a group of us now.”

She pauses to listen to whatever her sister says before responding again.

“Yes,” she says very quietly, voice strained as though it is costing her a lot to respond. “Yes that friend.”

She hangs up quickly after that, and turns immediately back to Nicole to resume conversation. The motion causes a few, scant strands of blonde in her hair to shimmer, matching the lovely golden eyeshadow she had chosen.

Nicole has always been an affable person, sociable enough with the right crowd. She loves her friends, can see herself getting on exceptionally well with Rosita given further opportunities, but in that moment it is hard for her to have eyes for anyone but Waverly.

They fall into an easy conversation again, natural and simple as dreaming, and - enchanted as she is - Nicole finds her earlier exhaustion all but forgotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly’s sister arrives forty-five minutes later like the Alberta snowstorm she’d so deftly avoided. Wynonna Earp shows herself as loud, confident, and utterly devil-may-care.

And of course, Nicole has had enough discussions about family with Waverly (while deftly avoiding any in depth talk of her own family situation) to know that this is mostly a lot of bravado but, with her sharp tongue and biting wit, Wynonna is just as much fun to be around as the rest.

She arrives at the table with an enormous glass of what looks like bourbon and starts giving Waverly and Rosita crap immediately. They appear used to it, ready responses easy on their tongues, and by the time further introductions are made there is no ice left to be broken.

Wynonna’s eyes linger on Nicole a little too long, a little too questioningly, when Waverly introduces them and if there is a sisterly test of some kind to pass then Nicole isn’t quite sure whether she has been successful. Nonetheless, Wynonna doesn’t make a comment as Rosita had done, although Waverly goes slightly tense again at Nicole’s side until the moment passes.

Always proud of her ability for patience, it doesn’t mean that Nicole isn’t a somewhat curious soul too (and well, she is more than a little invested in this situation), so she itches to know more about what has informed Wynonna’s slightly weighty look.

Nicole senses, after a while, that it probably isn’t as deep as she’d thought as it is, apparently, in Wynonna’s nature to give everyone as much grief as possible.

She seems particularly keen to demonstrate this personality trait on Jeremy because it rattles him, and on Dolls because it does not. She makes a few jokes (mostly around the theme of “do you even lift”) about Dolls’ stature but Nicole is observant enough to catch the interested look flicker on Wynonna’s face as she give Dolls an approving once over. Judging by his unwavering gaze back as she does so, he finds her equally interesting.   

Dolls, by his own admission, doesn’t date but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have fun sometimes; probably more than either Jeremy or Nicole recently but that truly isn’t difficult given that Jeremy doesn’t really do the whole hookup thing (either one-night or repeated), and Nicole hasn’t actually opened a dating app in a good few months.

She had only realised this in the past week, when one of the apps sent her a ‘come back to us’ type email. She tells herself she’s been busy, but she knows deep down that the apps have been dormant for almost as long as she’s known Waverly. The realisation unsettles her slightly, so she hasn’t dwelled on it too much.

Right now, her bigger problem is the thought of thin walls and the hookup potential in the loaded banter that is being traded from one side of the table to the other. Nicole is supportive of her friends, of course she is, but she’s selfishly probably more supportive of her need for sleep tonight. She does reason that at the moment she is, potentially, tired enough to sleep through anything so that’s a small mercy.

However, as it turns out, the thought process comes to nothing as, eventually, everyone starts to admit that they are all too tired to stay out much later. The clock is creeping closer to midnight as they settle the bill amidst much back and forth over who owes what and many instances of ‘but we’re quite happy to cover your share too’.

Once they have finally made it outside, they huddle together in a circle, struggling into hats and gloves, their breath fogging out in white clouds between them.

“Considering I was supposed to be sleeping early to get a ass-crack of dawn flight tomorrow, tonight turned out unexpectedly awesome,” Wynonna declares as she winds an enormous scarf around her neck at least three times. “Am I to assume I’ll see you guys again while I’m town”? she asks, directing this at Dolls in particular. She waits awhile as Nicole, Dolls, and Jeremy share inquisitory looks, trying to work out if plans have been made without all of their knowledge.

“The mixer?” Wynonna supplies for them when they all turn up blank. “Surely you’re at least going to be there Haught - perks of the job and all?” Wynonna has the customary smirk at the use of Nicole’s surname, the one that everyone adopts for ages until they stop hearing the pun in her surname eventually. It does happen through repeated use. A _lot_ of repeated use.

The question finally clicks for Nicole. There is to be a big fancy mixer at the museum next weekend, with prospective donors and other interested parties all invited. On these nights, corporate parties get private tours of the exhibits and people within the industry generally mingle to, as Nicole understands it, big up their own institutions.

Nicole is used to someone putting on the odd private evening tour, but the mixer itself is totally new to her. Apparently, these things happen often enough and the venue simply rotates around.

“Well I hadn’t expected to be,” Nicole admits, “not as a guest at least. I can do the doors though if you guys are stuck for anyone?” she asks, directing the question at Waverly.

Waverly hesitates for a moment.

“Yeah, sorry. I should have mentioned it earlier, we just haven’t crossed paths much recently I guess,” she begins. “Wynonna’s coming along since it coincides with her visit - even though she won’t benefit from the free bubbly at _all_ ,” Waverly adds pointedly.

“Look, I hate champagne - it’s gross,” Wynonna protests.

“Well then, all I can say is bless you for thinking it’d be _that_ fancy that the bubbly would be actual champagne,” Waverly quips, before turning back to Nicole. “I’d actually really wanted to invite you along properly - as a guest,” Waverly insists. “Technically it’s a ‘plus one’ deal but what’s the use of being the curator if I can’t bring whoever I want?”

Nicole smiles, but can’t help but feel hesitant.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not proper staff so I get it. It’s totally fine,” she says as quickly and dismissively as possible.

From Waverly’s other side, Wynonna stage whispers, “ _Haught_. Take it for the free bubbly and canapés. Do it.”

Everyone laughs, although Waverly quickly reverts back to wearing a hard, unreadable look. Nicole can’t tell if Waverly is silently desperate for Nicole to accept or to refuse.

“It wouldn’t be the most exciting event, but you _are_ proper staff - part of the team, remember? - and you should come, if you want to.”

Nicole shivers, realising that everyone is probably cold and waiting for the two of them to hurry up.

“Well, should we talk about it properly on Tuesday? I’m not really a fancy event kind of person though. However I _am_ an ‘earn extra money for Christmas presents’ kind of person, so I am more than happy to stand at a door and look mean.”

The joke receives a decent snort from Wynonna.

“I’m almost certain you’re at least sixty percent labrador. Can you actually look even slightly mean?” Wynonna laughs.

“Push me so far and test the theory Earp,” Nicole jokes, doing her most menacing voice.

“Good answer,” Wynonna says approvingly, before slinging her arm around Waverly’s shoulders. “Well, it’s been great guys but I, for one, am freezing my ass off. You two can sort this out later,” she declares before making a show of pretending to slow-motion wrestle Waverly away.

They all make their final goodbyes and head home, Nicole feeling unreasonably excited about a warm shower and good, long sleep.

Just as she’s settling in the for the night, Calamity Jane already snoring softly on the comforter, her phone buzzes.

[Waverly Earp, 00:47] As promised, I am letting you know that we made it home safely. Honestly I don’t think anyone would risk getting on the wrong side of Wynonna, she’s like a personal bodyguard.

[Waverly Earp, 00:47] Thank you for letting us join you tonight - it was so kind of you all. You’re a great group. Not sure if /I/ need to apologise or not though, I know my friends/family are a handful.

[Nicole Haught, 00:49] Please, i have no idea what you’re talking about, they’re wonderful. It was our pleasure to spend the night with you all.  

[Waverly Earp, 00:50] Thank you again. I had an amazing night.

[Nicole Haught, 00:50] I had an amazing night too. Sleep well Waverly, see you on Tuesday.

[Waverly Earp, 00:52] Have a great couple of days off and rest up - you deserve it!! See you bright and early on Tuesday - looking forward to it already!

[Waverly Earp, 00:52] Sleep tight Nicole

Beaming, Nicole finally puts her phone down on her bedside table after Waverly sends her last message - four of the pink double heart emojis.

Somewhere in Nicole’s mind still exists a voice that keeps reminding her not to overthink things, but that voice is getting progressively quieter and less insistent. Something in Nicole’s heart blooms at the thought that she has set up a pitch in Waverly’s life, significant enough that her friend and her sister have heard about it.

There is no way of knowing, really, whether things will progress the way Nicole barely dares to hope they will. However, Nicole does know that she deserves to feel all gooey over this tonight. After all, just once can’t do any harm, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as ever, thank you for reading and i'd love to hear from you here or on twitter. i've forgotten to mention it every other time, but if a corresponding picspam is your thing, i always make one with my fics so this can either be found here on my twitter: https://twitter.com/rositabustiIIos/status/934632608469831681 or here on my tumblr http://birositabustillos.tumblr.com/post/167913007458/


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is: further pining, missed moments, wynonna's and jeremy's input yet again, dolls appearing for 0.002 seconds (i'm so sorry) but being soft the whole time, and nicole & waverly being even softer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, it has once again taken me a week to manage to edit this chapter, but i did write another oneshot in that time so idk for sure, but i'll call it a win. i took ages to decide whether to mirror the poker spectacular and get nicole to dress up and turn up to the mixer, or whether to let nicole be a distant observer. ultimately i went with what i wrote first - albeit heavily edited. it felt right to me and i hope people agree and enjoy what i wrote. either way, please feel free to let me know.

“You know what you need to do, right?” Jeremy asks across the table, twirling pasta noodles around his fork.

“If you say ‘make a pros and cons list’,” Nicole grouses right as Jeremy trills,

“Pros and cons list!” 

Once he registers her lack of enthusiasm, he gives her a withering look. 

“They’re very useful, don’t be so disparaging.”

“I’m not being disparaging,” Nicole returns, angling her head towards the hallway as she hears Dolls leaving the bathroom. 

“Dolls!” she calls quickly as he walks by, hoping for support. 

“Just let him have this and make the pros and cons list,” Dolls calls back without stopping, even though he can’t possibly have heard any of the conversation. The click of a door a moment later indicates that he has retired to his room, ending any further contribution on his part. 

“He really does know everything,” Jeremy mutters to himself, sounding half indignant and half awed. He proceeds to stuff a neatly arranged but huge forkful of pasta into his mouth.

He chews. “Okay, pro: free food and drink.”

“I did not agree to this,” Nicole groans, trying to turn her attention to her phone. 

“Also,” Jeremy goes on, unperturbed, “pro: I bet she’s going to look seriously pretty in a fancy dress and you’ll get to do the clichéd ‘heart-eyes across the room’ moment.”

“Con: I’ll see be seeing her either way so that one doesn’t count.”

“How is that a con?” Jeremy asks, momentarily confused.

“It’s a con to your point, not in general,” Nicole explains, aware that the point she is making is weak.

“That doesn’t make sense. Con nullified,” Jeremy decides, making up the rules as he goes. 

“Okay, fine. Con: I don’t get paid to go, I get paid to work. Any more for any more?” Nicole asks, more sarcastically than intended.  

“Pro: you don’t have to stand around outside in the cold all night.”

“Con: it’s cold as shit in the museum so I’ll be standing around inside in the cold all night.”

“You can’t keep doing cons that are only against my points, not the decision in general,” Jeremy tells her sternly.

“ _ Fine _ . Con: I don’t own anything I can wear for a night like that, nor do I want to own such a thing.”

“Pro: you really really want to go.”

“Con: Waverly’s already going with her sister - she won’t want me there distracting her too.”

“Pro: She 1000% does want you there. And if you ask me she’s crushing pretty hard on you, even if she doesn’t know it yet. Pro part two: this is like, totally your chance to make a move dude. Ask her out.”

Nicole rolls her eyes, tamping down the little flame of hope that ignites immediately at Jeremy’s words.

“Con: if she’d wanted me to go with her it wouldn’t have been a last-minute invite  _ and _ she’s straight, she does not have a crush on me. Con part two: it is not my chance and I wouldn’t use it as such even if it was - it’s an important night for her.” 

“You white knight, you,” Jeremy jokes. “But seriously your spidey senses are even worse than mine and mine are really bad. I saw her at the weekend, she was looking at you like there was no one else in the entire room. I don’t know how you can’t s- ”

“Hey Jeremy, how’s Perry?” Nicole says suddenly. Partly, she is joking but she also wants to end the conversation. 

“He’s fine but don’t deflect. In fact, use me as a cautionary tale. Don’t get tongue-tied and fail to ask your work crush person out,” he tells her sternly. “Don’t be like me, be  _ un _ like me - go after the girl. Which, now that I think about it, is the polar opposite of me.” 

“ _ God _ . We’re both disasters,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Fair. We should both just like, make a pact to be braver about this.” 

“I know you’re kidding, but maybe we should,” Nicole says quietly after some deliberation. 

She has been thinking things through recently and she knows that, ultimately, her time left at the security firm (and by extension the museum) is a matter of months, assuming she qualifies in the summer as planned. She could easily be reassigned at any time too, although she knows that it would only happens if her current placement requests it (and she’s pretty sure the museum won’t be doing that). 

She doesn’t want to jeopardise things with Waverly as they are, but it might not be the worst thing in the world to test the waters a little more, at least once the new year has arrived. If the worst comes to the worst, she’d only have to stick out potential work awkwardness for a few months. 

Still, she’s loathe to risk the status quo as it is now which, as far as Nicole is concerned, is still pretty damn nice. 

And of course, there’s always that low-level nervousness too about asking out someone when they might turn out to be straight. That’s had some pretty dicey reactions in the past, not so much for Nicole but for people she knows. 

(Deep down, she knows that this largely an excuse to defer her decision - she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have to be worried about anything on that level. She’d heavily implied on a few occasions that she’s gay. Waverly hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid).

“But,” she goes on, “before you get any ideas, I am  _ not _ going to that party. I don’t have a dress and I’m not buying one for it.” 

Jeremy pouts. “Fine, but you’re an idiot.”

“Yes, thank you for that accurate assessment.”

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly does seem genuinely disappointed when Nicole offers to work the mixer, which makes Nicole reconsider her decision for a moment or two. 

She never thought for a moment that Waverly hadn’t invited her sooner out of any ill feeling, only that she had assumed that Nicole might not want to come to something that would effectively be quite boring. 

“If you change your mind,” Waverly says seriously in the staffroom on Tuesday morning, “you will tell me, won’t you? We can find cover I’m sure. You have, quite literally, right up until the last minute.”

“I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch like that,” Nicole insists, “but I appreciate it.”

Waverly nods vaguely, clearly lost in thought.

“It’s a shame,” she says absently, cradling a cup of tea in both hands. “I would have really liked to have spent the evening with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly finds Nicole again halfway through the morning to bring her a cup of coffee, since she can’t leave her post. This has been something of a habit of Waverly’s when she has the capacity to leave her office for long enough, and Nicole gratefully accepts the mug. 

The museum is quiet, experiencing its usual post-weekend lull. Waverly takes the opportunity to join Nicole where she leans against the wall. Waverly props herself up beside Nicole, barely a few centimetres away. 

“Do you still have class or do you get a break now?” Waverly asks, just to make conversation. 

Nicole finds amusement in the idea.

“No, vacation doesn’t start until next week, for me at least. I’m lucky I didn’t get selected for placement until the Spring semester, or I’d be working the whole holiday season. Guess it’ll be my last guaranteed Christmas vacation in a while.” 

Waverly wrinkles her nose slightly, then blows on her own tea, sleeves pulled down over her hands like little cardigan paws. 

“Ouch, that’s tough. I guess you knew it when you signed up though?” she checks, looking up to gauge Nicole’s expression.

“Yeah, exactly,” Nicole affirms, exhaling as she speaks. “It kind of sucks but it’s par for the course, as you say.”

“Will you go home then? For the holidays?” Waverly asks tentatively, aware that Nicole doesn’t talk much about this kind of stuff.

“Nah,” Nicole says, trying to play it cool. “Me, Dolls, and Jeremy kind of have our own traditions now and our other flatmate will probably drop by too. It’s always nice, I wouldn’t swap it,” Nicole says, her words almost entirely true. 

She still misses her first family most at this time of year - Christmas always used to be quite an event for both her immediate and extended relatives. 

Nicole is more than enamoured with her new family, but it doesn’t ever escape her notice (or that of Dolls and Jeremy) that their little unit had been cobbled together, in part, because the three of them couldn’t really visit their childhood homes all that often anymore.

Waverly is sensitive enough to pick up on the dismissal and she’s smart enough to see that Nicole had deliberately laid out the groundwork for a smooth subject change.

“I’ve only spent one night with you guys but I can already imagine how great Christmas at your place would be.”

“Oh yeah, it’s a lot of fun. I’d say you’re welcome to call in but I’m guessing you’re going to be back in Alberta? Purgatory you said, right?”

Waverly smiles as Nicole correctly recalls a conversation they had shared many weeks ago. Of course Nicole couldn’t forget any detail they’d shared, but nevertheless ‘Purgatory’ was a name that was hard to forget. 

“That’s the place, but actually no I’m not going back this year. It’ll be my first Christmas away, in fact.” She takes a deep breath, preparing to launch into something, and Nicole is about to tell Waverly that she doesn’t need to say anything she isn’t comfortable with.

Waverly, however, beats her to it.

“My Uncle Curtis died this year - a heart attack - and it’s been really hard on all of us,” Waverly begins, blinking her eyes hard a few times.

“Waverly, I’m so sorry,” Nicole says, hurrying to offer her condolences, partly to give Waverly some time to compose herself. Without thinking, Nicole gently puts her hand on Waverly’s forearm, skating her thumb over Waverly’s wrist as she speaks again.

“Thanks. But yeah, it was just really unexpected. He’d still seemed really healthy, so none of us could really wrap our heads around it at first. After our father wa-, well after he died when we were kids, Curtis and my aunt took us in. I mean, Wynonna just sort of drifted until she was old enough to up and leave entirely, and she’s been wandering ever since. This year is the most I’ve seen her in, I don’t know actually, just...a really, really long time. But my aunt and uncle did what they could for us, even if it was tough all round. 

“Wynonna and I both went back for the funeral and she’s been in touch a lot since. But she doesn’t settle down so easily and she isn’t going to back to Purgatory this year since there’s just more ghosts than people for her there now.

“Then, my Aunt Gus had to go out to Saskatchewan last month to help look after my Uncle’s sister because she had a fall and broke her leg. She told me the other day that she’s going to spend Christmas there with Curtis’ family who, to be honest, I really don’t know that well. So this year, there really isn’t anything to go back to Purgatory for unless you count bad memories, limited WiFi connectivity, shitty ex-classmates, and a handsy ex-boyfriend.”

“I don’t,” Nicole says, with a gentle smile, hand still on Waverly’s arm. “Count them, I mean.”

Waverly tries for a weak grin that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“Me neither,” she agrees, “so anyway I think me and Rosita were just gonna do a friends’ Christmas this year. At least in the morning. She’s invited me round for her family’s Christmas lunch, supposedly it gets kind of wild - there are, like, a ton of cousins. The family in general isn’t super close or anything, they just do awesome get-togethers apparently. I don’t know if I’ll go though - it might feel like I’m gatecrashing,” she smiles sadly. “Yet again.”

“I’m sure it won’t, not if she’s invited you,” Nicole insists, aware of the hypocrisy in the advice even as she offers it. “And if you want a decidedly non-wild end to the day, you are most welcome round at ours any day, including December 25th. Fair warning though, we usually start drinking at lunch, so we’ll be that snoozy kind of tipsy by evening.”

This gets a proper smile out of Waverly. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Tell Rosita too, will you? I think she and Jeremy weirdly really hit it off the other night, it could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Waverly laughs and agrees to let her know. 

Before either can speak again, Nicole’s phone vibrates, letting her know that it’s time to rotate rooms. She tells Waverly, who sighs.

“Yep, I’ve put off source request forms long enough. I want to put on a new exhibit early next year; Jackson and the difficult legacy of the 1830 Removal Act - much more fun than it sounds, I promise. Anyway, there’s a couple of museums I’m hoping will loan out a few things to us, but that generates a ton of paperwork.”

Nicole chuckles as they move off, opening the door to let Waverly pass through. 

“Thanks for the chat and you know, for listening to the depressing family stuff,” Waverly says sheepishly.

“Any time you want to talk about it, you know? It’s all good.” 

Waverly thanks her again before taking a deep breath. They come to a halt outside Nicole’s next station at the ticket desk. Whoever had been there for the past hour has already departed. It is technically against protocol, but there’s no one around so it can slide for today. 

“So, I was thinking,” Waverly begins significantly, “and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, obviously, but maybe we could grab coffee or food or something before the holidays? I just thought, well, we had a nice time the other night - I mean, I know  _ I  _ did - and with it being Christmas it’s just nice to spend time with friends, be thankful, you know? So I thought I could treat us to coffee, if you wanted? 

Nicole doesn’t miss the choice of wording - ‘friends’ - but still the idea makes her light up.

“I’d love to,” she says without hesitation, aware that she is beaming and failing to tone it down substantially enough to play it entirely cool. “I mean, obviously you don’t have to treat me, we can just spl- ”

“I want to,” Waverly interjects. “It’s on me, seriously. Coffee, dinner, whatever you’d prefer. Getting to know you these past months has been well - shoot I really should have planned th - I just,” Waverly blinks quickly before settling on her words. “I’m really glad I met you, Nicole.” 

She concludes this all in one breath, barely holding Nicole’s gaze and looking rather as though she’d like to dart from the room. 

“Getting to know you has been the highlight of this job,” Nicole says candidly, remembering her conversation with Jeremy the night before about bravery. Courage has never really been Nicole’s problem and she’s done her fair share of flirting with Waverly up to this point, but something about her just makes Nicole’s heart race in the best and worst of ways. She’s glad, at least, that there’s no one around to hear them.   

“I know I should probably lie about something more professional-sounding but I kind of don’t want to,” Nicole smiles, suddenly amused. “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you don’t say the same.”

Waverly laughs, a little too much probably but Nicole can hear the relief it belies, and it breaks the tension building up. Something has shifted a little between them for the second time in as many weeks. Again, Nicole can’t pinpoint what it is exactly but she can sense it nonetheless. 

“Is it diplomatic enough to say that I’d have finished my PhD in double-time if I’d known I’d get this job? I mean, being a curator  _ and _ meeting you,” she mimes a tiny explosion with her hands, “mind blown.”

Nicole laughs, and it feels like she does nothing but laugh when she’s around Waverly. 

“ _ Very _ diplomatic,” she says approvingly. 

“And honest,” Waverly points out. “So, what are your plans this Sunday? I know it’s your day off but I’m guessing it’ll be the only afternoon we can both do.”

“This Sunday sounds great. Then maybe I can get you back next time?” Nicole suggests, putting a lot of emphasis on the last two words. It makes Waverly shine.

“Yes, perfect. And now it’ll be something to look forward to after getting through the mixer on Friday.” 

Behind them, they hear customers coming in through the main entrance, and bring their conversation to a swift conclusion. 

Waverly retreats off to her office, and Nicole makes herself useful by serving the guests and issuing them with tickets. It’s not really part of her job, but it’s better than standing around awkwardly to wait for someone else. 

Although footfall is extremely healthy throughout the rest of the day, especially with the kids’ events getting extremely popular as schools gradually break up for vacation, nothing much of note happens.

Except for the one time the heat sensor goes off, the uneventful day leaves Nicole free to mentally revisit her earlier conversation with Waverly and wonder, with just the tiniest glimmer of hope, whether Jeremy hadn’t been onto something. 

Not that she’d ever tell him that, of course.

 

 

 

 

 

The week speeds along, which is kind of a double-edged sword. 

On the one hand, the idea of coffee with Waverly sits in her mind like a beacon on the horizon, getting her through another draining week. 

But then again, she also suffers a hellish physical assessment and a draining round of training at the gun range. They're far more tiring than they really should be and, uncharacteristically, she had almost forgotten about the latter and had been forced to hastily find a replacement for her Friday afternoon shift at the museum. So they definitely go in the 'bad things from this week' box. 

For the times that she is there, the museum is the busiest Nicole has ever seen it. Admittedly, this is great news for Waverly and the rest of the team, but it is also a lot of thankless, hard work. There are countless kids misbehaving, even more parents unwilling to intervene, and the damn Merriweather Lewis fan making a triple, yes  _ triple _ , appearance. 

(She also manages to forget her lunch and her wallet one day, which isn’t really a huge disaster, but the realisation at midday tops off an already unsavoury few days and puts a raincloud over her head for a while. It also leads to a frantically quick attempt to close up on Thursday and a scalding from Waverly who insists that she would have been happy to buy Nicole something to eat from the cafe next door. 

Happily, Dolls come through as ever, and she is surprised to find him waiting for her outside the museum when she leaves, two boxes of  _ chow mein _ stacked deftly in one hand. She’d feel guilty about his round trip on the way to class, except he’s clearly been kept company by Wynonna, who had been waiting for Waverly to finish work. In fact, the two of them seemed perfectly content to have been waiting together). 

Nicole is almost happy, therefore, when the mixer rolls around as - it means the week is almost at a close and she is another step nearer to Sunday afternoon. 

Target practice unfortunately means that she has to do a ridiculously quick turnaround to shower and get to the museum in time and she cuts it exceptionally fine. Still, she makes it just in time for guests to start arriving, all dolled up in nice dresses and suits. 

She feels no envy whatsoever seeing the thin covering most of the outfits provide as she withdraws further into her puffy, branded jacket. Door duty for the event is mostly just ticking off the guest list and checking tiny clutch bags. It’s not as though anything could possibly be hidden in one, but it’s all about procedure. 

The security company has a guidebook on procedural conduct as thick as two bricks stacked atop one another. It contains rule variations to fit almost every scenario imaginable, plus a few that would never cross anybody’s mind. Nicole had learnt the basics before she signed up for an interview, so it isn’t even a question of taking a refresher for something like the mixer - just a mind-numbing process of holding a clipboard and fumbling through purses with her heavy, cumbersome, but blissfully insulated gloves on. 

Everyone arrives promptly and, happy for small mercies, Nicole is quickly free to shut the doors and start a quick sweep of the ground floor. There are little rope barriers at the stairs and she’s hopeful that this isn’t the kind of crowd who are going to run riot in restricted areas. Mostly, people are clustered in the central exhibition area, with a few satellite groups trekking round the smaller rooms. Everyone has more bubbly and miniature eats than they can really handle, and there’s a nice loop of orchestral Christmas music playing softly over the speaker system across the entire floor. 

All in all, things are looking exceptionally peaceful. Almost too peaceful, one might argue. 

“Y’know, I usually don’t take too kindly to people who disappoint my sister,” a voice from behind Nicole says, and she turns to see Wynonna there in a simple but exceptionally glamorous, plunging black dress. “But I think I’m gonna let you off, Haught.” 

Nicole quirks an eyebrow. 

“And to what do I owe such an honour, Earp?” she asks, popping her lips on the ‘p’. 

“Because you strike me as the kind of girl who won’t kick their boss’ sister out the party for contraband,” she states, and Nicole notes the whiskey glass in her hand. 

“Ah yes, the champagne issue,” Nicole recalls. “I’ll let it slide. For now,” she says, affecting a put-upon sigh. “Depends how rowdy you get later, I guess.”

“Oh, I guarantee that’ll happen,” Wynonna says confidently, “but that’ll be once all of the stiffs have gone. Afterparty with the leftover booze in Waverly’s office, only the cool kids invited - you game?” 

Nicole considers it for a moment. “Well I’d hate to disappoint two Earps in one night, so sure.”

“Good recovery,” Wynonna observes. “Seriously though, Waves wanted you to come.” 

“And I am here,” Nicole points out.

“You’re also a sarcastic ass,” Wynonna bats back approvingly. “Although I bet you would have scrubbed up pretty nice,” she concedes. 

“Yeah, you know I would have, Earp.” 

Wynonna rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, I kind of feel the work over party vibe you got going on, in this one case  _ only _ . It’s not exactly a slamming event - if I could get paid to be here I would.” She takes a contemplative sip of her drink. “Except, of course, I am here for my beloved baby sister.”

“Of course,” Nicole agrees theatrically. “Which explains why you’re here talking to me.” 

“God I am loving this lowkey sarcasm all the time, is that, like, your thing? Waverly never mentioned  _ that _ .”

“My ‘thing’ is giving as good as I get,” Nicole jokes, and can’t help but grin. She likes Wynonna, a lot actually. 

Wynonna loses her battle to look disaffected too when a little smile creeps onto her face for a moment. 

“Well, to answer your half-assed question, or lack thereof, Waverly is being her usual social butterfly self and I definitely do not fit in here with anyone else.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Nicole says cautiously, and Wynonna raises her eyebrows in a dramatic expression of disbelief as she swallows another sip of her drink.

“Uh, dude? I just grouped you in with me and my sister. Biggest, compliment, ever!” 

Chuckling, Nicole checks her watch.

“And as much as I would genuinely love to stay in said illustrious group - no sarcasm - I unfortunately must pace around at regular intervals. We must not let this century’s criminal elite go unchecked for too long, you see.”

This earns a decent laugh from Wynonna. 

“Don’t think for a second that I won’t find you to pester you later.”

“Oh, I’m banking on it Earp.” 

Regretfully, Nicole moves off, checking in on each room as she goes. Things stay quiet and demure, even if people noticeably loosen up as the night goes on. Semi-drunk people always enjoy heckling the security, and Nicole gets a few well-intentioned jibes in her direction but nothing more substantial. 

With all the people milling around, Nicole doesn’t actually see Waverly until the mixer is halfway done, eventually seeing her in the main exhibition room, standing off to one side with a group of people listening to her every word. 

She draws Nicole's gaze as soon as she steps into the room, having just wended her way through the Rothchild Room and back again. It would be unthinkable that Waverly  _ wouldn’t _ have drawn Nicole’s attention immediately, not when she lights up the whole room so brightly. 

Nicole’s heart somersaults.

Waverly looks beautiful; she always has this effortless grace about her, but tonight it practically leaves Nicole with stars in her eyes. 

There is no way that Nicole wouldn’t have anticipated that Waverly would be a stunning sight, and yet seeing her in a midnight blue, low-backed dress stops Nicole’s breath anyway. 

Nicole chances stepping a little closer - she’s security after all, it won’t look that weird - and when she gets within earshot she finds that Waverly is, unsurprisingly, chatting animatedly about her vision for the museum.

It’s something else, listening to her speak with that much passion and enthusiasm, even though it’s something Nicole has been privy to on numerous occasions already. It never fails to leave her spellbound. 

Waverly holds everyone’s attention easily and no one even notices Nicole (the sign of a job well done on both Waverly and Nicole’s parts) until a particularly raucous round of laughter sounds up from a group of men in the centre of the room. 

Whipping round on instinct to look, Waverly catches sight of Nicole. Rather than investigate the laughter further, Waverly immediately diverts her attention to Nicole, her face splitting into a huge grin.

Nicole can’t help but feel kind of goofy when her heart starts hammering at the combined sight of Waverly’s smile and the few tendrils of hair that have escaped Waverly’s updo. They frame her face so beautifully Nicole finds fills her with an affectionate, gentle kind of awe. 

Nicole beams back, giving Waverly a quick thumbs up. 

The interruption causes Waverly’s group to politely end their conversation and disperse to mingle further, and Waverly briefly stops to chat with Nicole. 

“You’re doing great,” Nicole assures her, when she looks a little nervous. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

“Do you really think so?” Waverly asks seriously and watches with a hopeful expression as Nicole nods emphatically. “God I really hope so. The corporate tour seemed to go well earlier too, so cross your fingers, yeah?”

“No luck necessary but - ” Nicole holds up both her hands, showing her interlocked fingers. 

“Thanks,” Waverly says, sounding slightly breathless as she smooths down the front of her dress. It reminds Nicole that she still has something very important to say.

“Waverly, that dress is incredible by the way,” Nicole says boldly. “You look lovely.” 

Waverly very quickly and very visibly colours, blinking away from Nicole’s gaze for a second before resuming eye contact. 

“Yeah? Thank you,” she fiddles with some of the chiffon pleats in the skirt segment, swooshing them outwards slightly. “I really wasn’t sure about the dress to be honest.” 

“Be sure,” Nicole says firmly. “It suits you.” 

_ Anything would suit you _ , she thinks to herself. Another thought quickly follows, a memory of her pact with Jeremy to be braver, to maybe pursue these feelings further. 

So she expresses it out loud too, that conviction that Waverly would look wonderful in anything, and Waverly colours further in response. 

“That’s really sweet,” she says, before leaning in conspiratorially. Nicole struggles to suppress a shiver when Waverly’s breath tickles her ear. 

“To tell you the truth,” Waverly adds, “I thought it would be super obvious that I did not...exactly pay the earth for it. But I think, maybe, I got away with it?” 

“Oh for sure,” Nicole says, tone loaded. “A million dollars bare minimum. Two million. Hey, I’m not stingy go ten million.” 

Waverly laughs, giggly and bright and probably slightly giddy on the free bubbles. The laughter fades quickly as she apologises that she’ll have to excuse herself, but before she makes it two paces before she turns on her heel.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Wynonna said to me that she was going to pester you earlier. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not - if it wasn’t a joke, you have my full permission to tell her to, oh you know,  _ get lost _ . Be as colourful as you like.”

“She wasn’t joking, she came by before to give me shit. It’s cool though, I like her. But please, for the love of God, do not tell her I said that.” 

“Hey, I grew up with her,” Waverly says seriously. “I would not do that to you. Pinky promise,” she adds, although she does not physically offer one. 

“Well she did invite me to the cool people only...” Nicole checks around them and mouths  _ after-party _ , so as not to jeopardise any air of professionalism still present in a room full of increasingly tipsy historians. 

Waverly glowers. “That  _ asshole _ . I did not agree to anything of the sort, but,” she pauses and Nicole can tell it’s for show, “I’d maybe reconsider, depending entirely on the answer you gave her. So it goes without saying - there’s a lot hinging on your next few words.”

“ _Well_ ,” Nicole allows a dramatic pause of her own. “I told her I was in.” 

A waiter passes by with a tray of full flute glasses and Waverly smoothly exchanges one for her empty glass. She takes an overlarge sip. 

“Well then. If you’re going - how can I possibly say ‘no’?” 

She doesn’t wait for an answer, which is handy because Nicole doesn’t formulate an appropriately flippant response until Waverly is at least halfway across the room.

 

 

 

 

 

The mixer finally comes to a close at nearly eleven, with Nicole ushering the last slurring guests out of the door and locking it behind them. Things escalated so far, so fast after about ten o’clock, although Nicole isn't really surprised. There was - is - _so_ much bubbly.  

Doors checked and rechecked, she turns and finds Waverly waiting silently behind her, reclining casually against the front of the ticket desk. She has let her hair down already and Nicole can’t help but admire the way is cascades so beautifully down her shoulders. The odd strand of blonde glinting amongst the darker brown, caught in the dimmed overhead lights.

“Wynonna is already taking over my office. I’m actually kind of terrified but I’m also kind of drunk so,” she shrugs, movements loose, “who cares?”

Nicole snorts. “The sober, tomorrow version of you probably.”

Waverly smiles, loopy and unconcerned. “Probably. Shall we join them?”  

Nicole paces slowly over to her, gesturing that she should lead the way.

“Sure. We don’t want to miss the cool kids’ party, right?”

“Definitely not,” Waverly agrees seriously. She waits for Nicole to draw closer before hooking their arms together.

Nicole allows herself to be pulled along, through the set of double doors next to the ticket desk, along the darkened, quiet corridor as they bypass the doors to all of the exhibition rooms. 

Waverly doesn’t let go as they pass through the heavy doors marked ‘ _ staff only beyond this point _ ’, and she burrows as close as possible as they head to her office at the very end of the building. The door is slightly ajar and they can hear music as they approach.

In all her time working at the museum, Nicole has not been in Waverly’s office again since their day in the basement, and even then she was not there long enough to really familiarise herself with it. 

It is even smaller than she remembers, looking more cramped since Wynonna has stolen the couch cushions from the staffroom for them to sit on. 

“There are four chairs in here, you know,” Waverly points out, gesturing at her own wheeled office chair and the three stationary chairs on the opposite side of the desk for guests and visitors. 

“Sure but this’ll be way more fun, though,” Wynonna says dismissively as she lays the cushions out. “Plus a couple of your team members wanted to join Wave. Don’t worry,” she adds when she sees Waverly’s face, “they’re mega drunk - they will _not_ remember drinking with the boss and they will not last long here.” 

Waverly looks doubtful but is ultimately too kind to kick anyone out. 

There aren’t enough cushions to go round, and Waverly immediately chooses to share Nicole’s when everyone piles inside. 

The team members bring in the leftover bottles of what Nicole can now see is cava, and Waverly immediately snags one. She takes a long drink before wiping the bottle and passing it to Nicole. 

Nicole is kind of with Wynonna on the champagne thing, but cava is lighter somehow and it goes down well. Wynonna joins them with her whiskey a moment later, scrolling through her phone for a playlist. By the time she eventually looks up, the bubbly has been passed back and forth a few more times. 

“Hey Haught, wanna drink something decent?” Wynonna asks, holding the whiskey bottle by its neck and shaking it enticingly. 

Nicole shakes her head ‘no’, swallowing down her mouthful of fizz. She knows better than to mix her drinks on any night, but especially a school night - it might be Saturday tomorrow, but she and Waverly still have to work. 

Nicole suspects that there will be a good number of hangovers present at the museum in the morning, but she can’t face the thought of a full day’s work whilst feeling like death. 

They while away their evening making idle small talk, and although everyone grows drunker and rowdier, Nicole doesn’t come close to catching up after her late start to the drinking. 

She feels a minor but pleasant buzz building as she asks Wynonna about her travels and listens intently to her stories, all of which are pretty legendary. 

Nicole is astute enough to know that there is a lot of context that Wynonna is leaving out as she speaks, but she’s also sensitive enough that pressing for further information doesn’t even cross her mind. The two of them swap notes on what it’s like to travel for an extended, open period with no fixed abode. 

Nicole surprises both the sisters by mentioning her year out. It is not something she and Waverly had touched upon yet in all their talks, whereas Wynonna had apparently just gotten the wrong read on Nicole entirely, at least in that respect.

“Didn’t have you down as the gap year type,” she observes, her voice neutral.

“How come?” Nicole asks, curious on the image she has put out to them both.

“I don’t know, actually,” Wynonna admits, perhaps realising that she had no reason to come to such a conclusion. “I guess I figured you were super goal-orientated, just totally fixed on the becoming a cop thing. You know, a nark.”

Nicole has not told Wynonna that she is training to be a cop, so she can only assume that Waverly has mentioned this to Wynonna too. 

She rolls her eyes. “I took a criminal justice and law enforcement course at college before I travelled Wynonna, not a foundation year at a nunnery.”

Wynonna holds her hands up, whiskey bottle still gripped deftly in one. “You raise an excellent point.”

Beside them, Waverly has gone quiet and Nicole chances a glance at her as the conversation fades out. Waverly smiles when their eyes meet, looking soft under the weight of all the cava, and content to let the scene wash over her. 

“Hey guys!” one of the young volunteers, Josie, calls over upon seeing that their conversation has petered out. Nicole tamps down the impulse to ask Josie how old she is. 

Nicole isn’t a cop yet and doesn’t want to be a killjoy. There is a dim association between the girl and ‘nineteen’ which, if correct, isn’t too terrible - Nicole isn’t going to pretend she wasn’t drinking with her friends at that age. At least the kid is here, where she’s safe. 

“Drinking game?” Josie asks, and the question kind of confirms Nicole’s suspicions. Freshmen and their drinking games. Another of the volunteers, also quite young, produces a set of cards from somewhere. 

Nicole exchanges a look with the sisters - there’s a line here and they don’t any of them want to cross it. 

“Unless you play a mean game of poker it’s a hard pass from me,” Wynonna says ambivalently and Josie shrugs. 

“Never got into it, but you guys go wild,” she says, taking the cards from her friend and tossing them over. When he protests, she hushes him, voice languid and just on the edge of slurring. “Dude it’s one pack of cards and we should probably get going anyway - Owen is asleep.” 

Sure enough, one of the boys is dozing with his head against the wall and Josie ungracefully wakes him up with a thump on his arm. 

The trio appear to be friends, perhaps coursemates, and they make plans to leave together. Their departure spurs on the last stragglers - two of the front of house staff - and soon Wynonna, Waverly, and Nicole are left alone. 

“So, poker?” Wynonna asks, opening the box of cards.

“I don’t trust you and poker,” Waverly mumbles poorly, words hardly enunciated at all. She is still swigging at the cava that Nicole had long abandoned. 

“Don’t listen to her,” Wynonna says to Nicole. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t want to make you cry,” Nicole says with a smirk. “Or take your money.”

“No chance of the former,” Wynonna says quickly, “but if you’re so worried we’ll just bet drinks. Loser of each game downs their drink.”

“We’re drinking from the bottle,” Waverly points out.

“Excellent, high stakes then,” Wynonna says as she starts to shuffle. 

Nicole sighs. “I want you to know that this is a really, really bad idea.”

Grinning slyly, Wynonna pauses to grab another half-empty bottle of cava, deliberately choosing the one that looks to be the most full. She pushes it into Nicole’s hand. 

“Money where your mouth is Haught.” 

 

 

 

 

 

They play until the small hours, and Nicole’s bravado is proved time and again to be well-reasoned. 

Both Waverly and Wynonna are formidable opponents, each sneaking the odd win here or there, but Nicole just has a really good knack for the game. 

It’s not the cards or poker itself where she excels, in fact she doesn’t actually really like the game that much. It’s more that she has good instincts and can read people exceptionally well. 

Partly it comes naturally and partly it’s her training, but either way it makes it easy for her to make the best of almost every hand she is dealt. Plus it helps that the other two are much, much more drunk. 

On the rare occasion that Nicole loses, it is usually when she has a truly catastrophic hand from the outset, or during one tragic lapse of concentration when Waverly shifts around her spot on the couch cushion. She ends up with her leg (increasingly bare as her dress sneaks first to her knee, then halfway up her thigh) pressed in full against Nicole’s. It proves to be quite distracting. 

And, even when she loses, Nicole can get away with drinking a little less than specified as her companions’ perception dulls further and further. She doesn’t do it to be a killjoy or a lightweight, it just feels appropriate that one of them retains their better judgement for the journey home. Since she’s already behind, it might as well be her. 

By the end, Nicole considers losing a couple of times out of mercy, but her pride won’t allow it. 

The issue, however, is that pride comes before a fall, although the fall in this case is Wynonna’s when she struggles to her feet to use the bathroom. 

Nicole’s own problem is that she has been lumbered with two increasingly drunk sisters and absolutely no idea of how exactly to deal with them when the time comes for them to get some rest.

For as much as Nicole’s pride won’t allow her to purposefully lose more than one game, Wynonna and Waverly’s pride won’t allow them simply refuse to drink when they lose, no matter how much Nicole insists that they change the rules and just play cards. 

When Nicole calls time, both of the sisters are substantially more drunk than Nicole had anticipated when she left her flat, although it turns out that they’re both pretty cute drunks in their own ways. They’re also pretty easy to look after, as drunk people go. 

Besides, caring for the intoxicated on a Friday night is probably going to form a good fraction of her workload in the near future - it’s all good practice. Nicole has no problem with being the one to collect bags and coats, bring glasses of water, and use distraction techniques to wrestle any remaining alcohol away. 

Her only real stumbling block comes when she realises, much too late, that she doesn’t know where Waverly lives. She has a vague idea of the neighbourhood, but she doesn’t have a full address, so she can’t order a cab for two of them. She tries asking for details, but it is without success. 

Wynonna, being a guest, doesn’t know the full address and Waverly is, apparently, an affable but entirely uncooperative drunk. She is not difficult but distracted by every small thing, playing with Nicole’s hair and utterly fascinated to find it let loose from its usual braid (nevermind that Nicole had taken it out hours ago). 

While Wynonna is confident and chatty (and even more of an asshole than normal), Waverly is joyous; buoyant; giggly; and even more tactile than she is while sober. The more Nicole insists that she needs an address, the more Waverly finds something else to focus upon. She reaches up to hug Nicole on at least three occasions, all in the space of time it takes for them to get their feet. 

After a decent try at obtaining even the most vague directions, Nicole has to concede that she needs to change tack. 

More buzzed than she’d like but certainly the least messy, Nicole takes it upon herself to right Waverly’s office while the sisters give their best rendition first to ABBA’s  _ Dancing Queen _ and then, for a total change of pace, to the  _ Despacito _ remix (fortunately for them, Nicole is the only one present to witness their combined butchery of the Spanish language and she only films  _ one _ chorus. Hell, she doesn’t even  _ Snapchat _ it to anyone). 

By the time she is done moving everything to the staffroom kitchen (it will have to be cleaned up properly in the morning - well, later in the morning) Nicole is aware that there is only one option left to her. She positions a sister on either side of her - both of them now much more precarious in their heels than earlier (and really? Neither of them brought spare shoes?) - and guides them with a hand on one of their shoulders each.

It is gone one in the morning by the time Nicole has ushered them both into the freezing night, the city still alive and kicking around them as people make their way from the bars towards the clubs. Getting to Nicole’s usual subway station takes twice as long because Wynonna happens to be a bit of a wanderer, dragging them this way and that before eventually fixating on an open takeout joint. 

Nicole has to concede that, after skipping dinner to get to the mixer on time, she could go for some grease and is more than happy for Wynonna to drag them inside. 

They order and pay, or rather Nicole deciphers what she thinks Waverly and Wynonna want and tells the man behind the counter. Waverly then tries to fight Nicole over who should cover the bill. Nicole wins, but mostly because Waverly does not have enough cash on her anyway although this doesn’t stop her from trying to force Nicole to accept a wad of scrunched up bills. 

While they wait for their ticket number to flash up, Wynonna makes some strange conversation with an equally drunk girl who seems to be called Kiersten. It all appears to make sense to them but it is entirely impossible for Nicole to follow. This is, in part, to do with the way a drunk and sleepy Waverly folds herself into Nicole’s side while they wait. She nestles her head on Nicole’s shoulder, and Nicole feels entirely unwilling to disturb the quiet hush that sits between them until their number is called. 

From there, it is a tricky question of getting everyone (and their pizzas and fries) onto the subway, off the subway, and into the flat in one piece. 

This she manages somehow, but Nicole gives up entirely on keeping them quiet, sending a hurried and apologetic message to the groupchat explaining the current situation after she parks Wynonna and Waverly at the kitchen table. 

She fills three enormous glasses with water and leaves the sisters to eat as she tries to work out how on earth she is going to accommodate both of them. One can take the couch, but the only blowup mattress is Jeremy’s and she doesn’t have the heart to disturb him further for that. 

As she contemplates the problem, the door to Dolls’ room opens a crack and his head and bare shoulders poke out. He squints against the brightness of the kitchen light as it spills into the hallway. 

“Sorry we woke you,” Nicole whispers with a grimace.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s good that you’re all at least in someone’s home safe and sound,” Dolls tells her gently. “Need a hand with anything?”

“I mean, only the math on how we accommodate two Earps when we only have one couch and Jeremy has the airbed with him.”

Dolls contemplates for a moment. “Can you bunk up with one of them? Or are you chill with them taking your room and you take the couch?”

The idea is obvious, and Nicole wonders if she is more drunk than she originally thought, given that she couldn’t come up with such a simple solution herself. 

“You are both a genius and an angel,” she tells Dolls, feeling bold enough to dash up and give him a quick, affectionate peck on the forehead. The boundaries of their friendship never usually accommodate such familiarity and Dolls blinks at her, doing a bad of job of seeming impassive. 

“With that journey into the twilight zone I am going back to bed. Good luck,” he jokes, indicating at the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Nicole whispers, not adding that she is sure she’ll need it. It’s kind of obvious. 

She finds the kitchen largely how she left it, Waverly and Wynonna eating through their food with the childlike concentration of two very drunk individuals. Nicole takes the moment of peace as an opportunity to quickly pick at her own pizza too. 

She then plays mom as she forces them both to drink at least two more glasses of water - “you are both going to be thanking me so hard tomorrow, trust me” - while she retrieves some spare pyjamas from her room, noting as she goes that Dolls has left a spare pillow and some blankets outside his door. God bless him. 

Calamity Jane mewls unhappily at her when she turns the lamp on and Nicole hushes her impatiently.

“Cool it you demon cat. We’ve got guests.” 

Before Jane can escalate it into any real kind of debate, Nicole hears movement in the flat and dashes to see what kind of mischief her unexpected guests are causing. 

She hears a hushed, slurred debate in the living room and enters just in time to make out Waverly protesting.

“We can’t just stay over in their flat Wynonna. Wyn, don’t do that.”

‘ _ That _ ’, as it turns out, is flopping face down on the couch and batting a heavy hand at Waverly to go away.

“Obviously you’re both staying,” Nicole says. “But I’d thought you guys might want my room? I can take the couch.” 

Waverly looks scandalised at the very idea.

“No  _ way _ you take the couch in your own home,” she says earnestly, deliberating over each word and over-enunciating as she speaks. Perhaps by way of agreement, Wynonna gives a snore from the couch and Waverly gives her a tentative poke on the shoulder to no avail. 

_ Well Dolls _ , Nicole thinks,  _ it  _ was  _ a good plan _ . 

“Someone’s out cold,” Nicole observes, half-amused, but Waverly’s train of thought has already gone to another stop altogether.

“Can I meet your cat?” she asks brightly and looks so hopeful that Nicole can hardly turn her down. She leaves the blankets, pillow, and a set of pyjamas by the couch and quickly dashes back to the kitchen for some more water for each of them. If she can coax Waverly to bed she’ll just camp out on the floor - after all that camping in her gap year, she can pretty much sleep anywhere.   

“I warn you now,” Nicole says as she directs an unsteady Waverly to her bedroom, “Jane is an asshole to almost everyone at first. Do not take it personally but also, pet her at your own risk.” 

Waverly nods solemnly before sitting down heavily on the end of the bed. The motion propels Jane’s end of the bed upwards somewhat, which is a poor introduction. 

Looking grumpy, Jane opens one eye and takes Waverly in.

“Oh I’m sorry, did we wake you up?” Waverly coos, voice high-pitched and adorable. 

Calamity Jane opens her other eye at the sound, but doesn’t respond further until Waverly reaches out to pet her and she flattens her ears to her head.

“Oh,” Waverly says, sounding disappointed. “She really doesn’t like me.”

“Well she didn’t bite or claw your hand off like she does with most people, so I’d say you two are hitting it off extremely well.”

Waverly brightens. “Really?” 

“Uh-huh,” Nicole affirms, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. “So, question. Can I trust the two of you to stay on good terms while I use the bathroom?”

Waverly crosses her heart and entirely fails to catch the pyjamas Nicole tosses at her. 

Nicole bites back a laugh at Waverly’s disgruntled huff as, uncoordinated as a toddler, she leans towards the floor to pick the clothes back up. Rising back to a sitting position proves to be the hardest part, and Nicole really can’t keep from smiling at Waverly’s poor efforts. 

“Okay, well you can change into those if you want. Better than sleeping in that dress I’m guessing.” 

“Oh, I’d have slept in my underwear before I slept in this awful thing,” Waverly tells her, candour driven entirely by all the cava still swilling around her system. 

There isn’t really much Nicole can say to that kind of announcement, especially as it comes at a time when it couldn’t have been less appropriate, so she heads off to the bathroom without another word and performs the quickest ablutions of her life. 

She knocks on the half open door upon returning but doesn’t receive an answer and eventually, with her eyes almost squeezed shut, is forced to look in. 

The sight that meets her warms her right down to her toes; Waverly in Nicole’s pyjamas, sprawled out onto her back on the comforter and already asleep, t-shirt on completely askew and her mouth open, discarded clothes in a messy pile on the floor. 

Nicole smiles to herself, shutting the door gently behind her and taking the time to quickly hang up Waverly’s dress and leave it hooked against the back of the door. As she does so, the cat gives her a quick, questioning mewl.

“I don’t know where you're going to sleep,” Nicole tells her softly. “It’s only Waverly, stop being such a snob. You’ll like Waverly, she’s great.  _ I  _ like her,” Nicole adds and the cat meows again. 

“I know, I know that’s the understatement of the century - no need to be a dick about it CJ.” 

Nicole wrestles a blanket out from the drawer under her bed, but doesn’t dare go for a pillow lest she disturbs Waverly. 

However, her movements alone are enough to make Waverly stir just as Nicole settles on the floor and tries to reach up to turn her lamp off.

“What are you doing?” she asks suddenly, sound puzzled but already a little more coherent. 

“Thought we’d sleep better with the lamp off,” Nicole says, misreading Waverly’s question. “But I can leave it on if you want?”

“No,” Waverly insists, still drunk enough to sound somewhat imperious even as the effects of the cava wane slightly. “I mean on the floor.” 

“Oh,” Nicole says, unsure how to answer. She had been trying to respect boundaries first and foremost, but had also shared a room with enough non-lesbians in her time to know that it wasn’t always a popular scenario for all. In the end, she goes with an evasive answer.

“I just thought it was for the best if I camped down here.”

“It’s your  _ home _ Nicole,” Waverly repeats from above her. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not. It’s only for a couple of hours anyway.”

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Waverly groans dramatically. “ _ Work _ .”

“Yup,” Nicole agrees heavily.

“Okay well that totally settles it. You need decent sleep too. We can share, if you’re chill with that.”

“Not that I’m not chill with it, but the floor is fine - really.”

“Nicole Haught if you refuse to get in your own bed in your own room, I will get on that floor too and we’ll both be a pair of drunk idiots, sleeping on the floor while Wynonna gets the comfort of the couch.” 

Nicole doesn’t for a second doubt that Drunk Waverly’s resolve is any less strong than her sober counterpart’s so she saves them both time and concedes defeat quickly, clambering up and into the bed. 

Whilst she wrestles with the comforter (and Calamity Jane once against makes her displeasure known), Waverly decides she wants to use the bathroom. 

“There’s an unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet above the sink.”

Grateful, Waverly staggers off - even more unsteady now that she has been laying down for a while. 

Nicole finally arranges the blankets, and an angry cat, on the bed, and lays there listening to the faint sounds of running water. She tries not to worry too much about how awkward things are going to be in a few hours’ time, after a meagre amount of sleep and what little breakfast she can cobble together for them both. (Wynonna, she assumes, will be asleep until much later).  

After a short spell, Waverly returns and Nicole gives her a chance to get into bed before she finally switches the lamp out. The room falls into almost total darkness and Waverly shifts around as she tries to get comfortable, her movements long and uncontrolled. 

She is, at least, consistently tactile. She burrows close to Nicole, not quite enough to touch (except for where she rests her arm against Nicole’s) but enough that Nicole can feel the warmth of Waverly’s body. 

“Nicole?” Waverly mumbles after they’ve been in darkness for a while, and they’re so close together Nicole can smell the toothpaste Waverly has borrowed. 

“Mmhm?”

“Sorry me and my sister are such horrible messes - I bet you regret making friends with us now.” Waverly sounds genuinely sorrowful, emotions as intoxicated and unpredictable as the rest of her. 

“Never ever,” Nicole insists.

“Well, thank you. For taking care of us tonight.”

“I always will Waves,” Nicole replies, unconsciously picking up on the nickname that Wynonna uses. She isn’t sure if that’s alright, until Waverly gives a contented little snuffle -

“Like it when you call me ‘Waves’.” 

She shuffles even closer to Nicole, once again cuddling into her side and resting her head near Nicole’s on the same pillow so that they are facing each other. 

After a half a minute or so, Waverly says Nicole’s name again, only this time it doesn’t sound like a question. It kind of sounds like a prayer. 

Before Nicole really knows what is happening, Waverly is searching for her in the darkness, drunk and bold and entirely not in control of her actions. Nicole isn’t completely sure what Waverly is aiming for, whether it is closeness or chaste contact or something  _ else  _ entirely but she knows that it can’t go ahead under these circumstances. 

Much as Nicole would love to hold Waverly, would love to kiss her - much as she has daydreamed (and actual dreamed) about it all - it could never sit right for anything that even  _ skates _ the fine line between platonic and romantic to happen now. 

Anything more than closeness or gentle  _ warmth _ isn’t right with Waverly in such a state, and Nicole’s heart starts thudding in her chest and ears. It is so strong that she is surprised Waverly can’t hear it. 

Nicole ducks her head and shuffles around slightly, trying to make it look like she is getting comfortable. 

“ _ Okay _ ,” Nicole says a bit too loudly, her voice too cheery even to her own ears. “Maybe we don’t get into any of that right now, yeah?”

Waverly freezes where she is, but doesn’t say anything further. It is too dark for Nicole to see her expression, even if she would dare to look anyway. Time passes agonisingly slowly and Waverly still doesn’t speak, but eventually she comes closer again. She presses her face into Nicole’s neck and exhales contentedly. 

If she’s upset by Nicole’s actions, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she mumbles a goodnight and seems to fade away more or less instantly. The alcohol might have spurred her actions, but it has helped put an end to them too. 

Sleep comes much less easily to Nicole, hyper-aware of every movement Waverly makes as she tries not to think about how nice - how damn  _ comforting _ \- it feels to have Waverly warm and pliant beside her. It isn’t an unchaste thing, just the sheer joy of having someone else slumbering nearby, twofold really if she counts Jane’s quiet snores mingling in with Waverly’s. 

Nicole doesn’t want to think about the fallout of Waverly’s unexpected actions, not that she can say exactly what they would have been. It is entirely possible Nicole had misread the situation, that Waverly had just been drunk and cuddly, and that the way she’d breathed Nicole’s name was pure coincidence.

This is, if anything, more likely than anything else - but Nicole wasn’t about to take any chances at all. 

She is almost certain (and fairly hopeful) that Waverly won’t remember a thing in the morning. Nicole knows better than to think too much of it - Waverly is drunk and Nicole was, well,  _ there _ . She gets that, even if she feels it a little sadly in her chest. 

She sleeps fitfully at best, and neither is prepared to face the dawn on such little sleep when Nicole’s alarm sounds barely a few hours later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, well! that's it! they're so soft, so dumb, such idiots - kind of. but it feels like there's a change in the air right? right??? hmm who knows. not me, i haven't actually quiiite finished writing the chapter yet (i say, when i rarely post anything that hasn't been finished in its entirety). but it's nearly done as are all my preparations for the festive season so i'd like to think the next chapter will be up next monday. 
> 
> in the meantime, i would love to hear what you think. thank you so, so much to everyone who's reviewed so far and to anyone who's sent me messages on twitter. you're always welcome to get in contact - i'm the world's slowest replier but not bc i don't care, and i do love to chat about all things wynonna earp/wayhaught. as ever, please take care! (especially if, as with me, the winter weather has really gone into overdrive recently!!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will they? won't they? we just don't know
> 
> (actually we do know...at least you will if you read the chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! apologies for the slightly delayed update – i’ve just been so busy trying to cram in christmas get togethers, plans to see star wars, work, getting everything ready for christmas day and a hundred other things that i couldn’t quite finish this chapter within a week. however, they do usually say that things are better late than never, and I do kind of hope the content of this chapter will make up for the delay. however, you should be the judges of that so please please let me know all your thoughts in as much length as you do, or don’t, see fit in a comment below.

By her own admission, Waverly is not much of a morning person but Nicole has never truly witnessed this firsthand. Granted, she is usually the first to speak to Waverly at work, but by then she has had some time to wake up, to prepare for the rigours of general human interaction.

Although it is not something she has before been witness to, this is one of Waverly’s best contradictions (at least in Nicole’s eyes) - that she can be such a remarkably sunny person in almost every scenario, but not first thing in the morning.

It probably doesn’t help on this particular morning, either, that Waverly wakes up likely still a tiny bit drunk and with a not unsizeable headache.

For her own part Nicole feels fine, save for the lack of the sleep, and is glad she had insisted on everyone drinking so much water before bed. It takes her a moment to remember the full programme of events from the night before, and she feels a twist of anxiety in her stomach at the potential for any post-party awkwardness in the cold light of day.  

Nicole’s alarm sounds at six thirty - not all that much later than if she would be running into work, to accommodate the fact that there will be two of them trying to get ready this morning. Nicole wakes first, feeling almost worse for the small amount of sleep she had managed to attain, than if she’d simply powered through the night without any rest at all.

During the night, Waverly had shifted.

By morning, she is no longer pressed tight against Nicole’s side, but is still close enough that Nicole can smell the last, lingering traces of the perfume Waverly had been wearing at the mixer, different to her everyday one. She also still has one leg stuck amongst Nicole’s as she lays at a strange angle across the bed.

Nicole herself was still occupying the small slice of bed that she’d started out with, perched precariously on the edge.

There was a large space left, therefore, on Waverly’s side and, craning her neck, Nicole can just see Calamity Jane curled up tightly, right in the middle of the vacant area and looking, as it happened, like the cat that got the cream.

_Well_ , she thinks, _at least someone’s enjoying themselves_.

She pauses, reviewing that thought and concluding that it is slightly unfair. As before, she feels happy having Waverly there, even if her proximity is starting to make Nicole overheat. It had been a long time since she’d experienced this kind of prolonged closeness and, while she couldn’t say it was unpleasant (quite the opposite), she had forgotten the primary drawback of sleeping beside another body - that she ran too warm for it to always be a totally perfect experience.

She imagines that Waverly - who is still just barely stirring - might not quite have _that_ problem, but she might have a headache-shaped one in a moment or two.

Nicole watches, while trying halfheartedly not to, as Waverly’s long eyelashes flutter and she feels a quick flash of affection at the sweet way that Waverly struggles to wake up.

Nicole’s backup alarm sounds and, even though her phone is now in her hand, she lets it play for a beat or two longer than necessary just to see if it helps Waverly into wakefulness.

The upshot is that the alarm does help, but not necessarily in the way that Nicole had intended.

Waverly groans and, disorientated, promptly tries to roll over. However, having evidently forgotten where she is, she rolls to her left and ungracefully straight into Nicole.

Waverly swears, jerking awake, and colours immediately when she looks up and meets Nicole’s eye. Quick as a flash she rolls back the other way and onto her back, mercifully just missing the cat who stirs with a disgruntled look on her face.

Waverly brings both palms up to cover her face.

She makes a noise somewhere between a loud sigh and a dramatic groan.

“Oh my God,” she mumbles, difficult to hear behind her hands.

“How are you feeling?” Nicole asks, struggling to keep the amused smile from her face.

Slowly, Waverly withdraws her hands and Nicole can tell from her face that she is considering the question carefully.

“Not...too bad,” she decides eventually before pulling a face that suggests she is trying to remember something distant. “Did you force me to drink water last night?”

“Oh yeah like three pints,” Nicole says, chuckling.

“You _angel_ ,” Waverly breathes. “Thank you.”

“And we have some Advil somewhere, so I think we’ve got you both covered.”

Waverly thanks Nicole again before wrinkling her brow.

“God I’m so embarrassed, what even happened last night? Do I want to know?”

Sensing an opportunity, Nicole asks, “how much you got?”

Waverly sticks her tongue out slightly, thinking.

“The volunteers left, I remember that,” she decides, the exclaims, “oh shit, they’re teenagers. Crap, Nicole is that bad?” she turns immediately to face Nicole, embarrassment overtaken momentarily by panic.

“Are you asking me, like, legally or just personally?”

“Both?” Waverly tries hesitantly.

“Well they were on private property but of course _technically_ legally they should not have been drinking. Personally speaking - they were safe, they were supervised, it wasn’t their first illegal drink and it won’t be their last. Don’t worry about it.”

“So you’re not going to arrest us all?” Waverly asks, biting her lip against a smile.

“I do not technically have that power - yet,” Nicole says, “but when I do, well who knows? It may go to my head and I might hunt you all down one by one like in a bad cop show.”

“Oh no,” Waverly says, affecting a _woe is me_ air. “I’m not cut out to go on the run.”

“You’ll never outrun me anyway, Earp,” Nicole tells her, just as dramatically.

“Oh you’re right, it’s hopeless,” she agrees and they both dissolve into laughter.

After a moment, Waverly wriggles onto her side, looking at Nicole deeply, like she’s seeing right down to her bones and further, to the formless soul of her deep within.

“Seriously though,” she asks after a momentary shared look, “what happened after the mixer? Why didn’t I go home?”

For the first time, a flicker of true realisation passes over Waverly’s face.

Nicole wouldn’t mind betting that Waverly is just now really taking in the fact that she is, first thing on a Saturday morning, mildly hungover and laying in bed with Nicole.

“You really only remember the kids leaving?” Nicole tries.

“Well, there were cards - oh boy Wynonna suggested poker. Yep, that about explains it all,” she says with a wince. “ _Hey_ ,” she adds suddenly, voice accusatory, “you were scary good - this is all your fault.”

Nicole holds her hands up in defence. “Excuse me but I was the one telling everyone to stop drinking!”

Waverly blinks, trying to recover the memory. “Oh yeah, so you did. Well that’s basically a foreign language to an Earp but nice try though.”

“Well suffice it to say that the stuff you’ve blanked wasn’t too terrible,” Nicole says, not really sure if it is a lie or not. “But neither of you could properly tell me your address. That’s about the long and short of it really. You guys are adorable drunks though, and you did a great ABBA rendition.”

Waverly reddens again. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. Wanna see?” Nicole asks playfully, diving for her phone just as her alarm sounds for the third time, reaching an unpleasant crescendo.

“Nicole, you didn’t. I could never believe you’d be so evil.”

“Well I am. And _you’re_ saved the by the bell,” Nicole says, switching the alarm off for good, “because I think we need to get moving if we want to make it to work on time.”

Waverly gives another theatrical moan. “Shit I really don’t want to. I have the worst beer fear right now that I did something embarrassing.”

“Okay well, all jokes aside, you guys only hit it really hard when everyone else had left,” Nicole assures her. “You were super professional at the mixer, and I was there the whole time afterwards - all good on the work front, okay?”

She is aware that she is lying by omission, but if Waverly really has blacked out everything from poker onwards, then it wouldn’t be fair to embarrass her right now. They’ll have to talk about it all eventually, of course they will, but it can wait until they have coffee tomorrow.

“Thank you, Nicole,” Waverly says seriously and Nicole shakes her head dismissively as she pulls the covers back.

Waverly looks down at herself for the first time.

“Wait, are these your pyjamas?”

 

 

 

 

 

They manage to get ready without too much of a rush or panic.

The first issue that Nicole can see is Waverly’s clothes. Nicole is happy to loan out her own, but she isn’t much of a dress person, and all of her work-appropriate pants are going to be much too long for Waverly.

She voices the thought aloud as they get up, making the bed together in their (Nicole’s) pyjamas.

“Can I - I mean would it be alright if I just borrowed some jeans and a fresh shirt? I keep spare clothes at work, I just need something to travel in. If that’s okay?”

“More than okay,” Nicole says and opens up her wardrobe and a few drawers of her dresser. “How about you take a look and find something that works while I grab a super quick shower?”

The plan suits Waverly fine and by the time Nicole has washed her hair and dressed, Waverly has selected a pair of black jeans which she can roll up at the ankle and a plain blue button down that Nicole favours. She is waiting, sat cross-legged on the bed, and seems to be having some silent negotiation with the cat, who is now fully awake and watching Waverly cautiously from a spot about fifty centimetres away.

“I’m impressed,” Nicole says softly as she enters, trying not disturb whatever meeting is in session. “Normally she’d be at least four feet away from someone new. She likes you.”

“I feel like you’re humouring me,” Waverly says, bravely drifting her fingers back and forth across the comforter to try and coax Calamity Jane closer. The cat watches with some interest, one of her paws flexed outwards slightly as if she is half-tempted to go in for the attack.

“Not at all, this level of interaction is pretty much early friendship where Jane is concerned, and by the looks of things you still have all your fingers attached too. Good going!”

At this, Waverly stills her hand. “I can’t tell whether you’re joking or not.”

“Not,” Nicole says, dumping her pyjamas in the laundry basket and fishing a comb off her dresser. As she brushes her damp hair out, she uses her free hand to scratch behind Jane’s ears.

She arches up into Nicole with a contented purr, eyes closing loosely in a happy expression.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Nicole adds, “she’s a super affectionate little thing once she trusts you. She’s not ours, technically, but I think she’s as good as now.” She explains their first meeting with Calamity Jane, telling Waverly about her being out in the bad weather and growing thinner and more sickly looking as time went on.

“I think best case really was that she was abandoned and is distrustful as a result. Worst case is she was actively mistreated and doesn’t like anyone she doesn’t know coming near her.”

“That’s just awful, she’s so gorgeous. I don’t know how anyone can do that - to another person or an animal,” Waverly grumbles, eyes flashing slightly. “Good on you guys for rescuing her though.”

“Yeah she’s part of the family now, even if she doesn’t have the tightest relationship with Jeremy or Dolls, and Eliza isn’t round enough for CJ to get to know her.”

“Well, I’ll do whatever is needed for her to trust me, even if it kills me,” Waverly says firmly, giving a little smile in the cat’s direction before checking the time on her phone.

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that,” Nicole says earnestly before nodding at the clothes Waverly has chosen. “If you give me two seconds I’ll pop out so you can get dressed.”

“Actually, I hate to impose further, but could I possibly take a shower before I change? I feel kind of gross.”

“And you have the nerve to say that while wearing _my_ pyjamas,” Nicole jokes, adding a hasty explanation that she’s kidding when she sees Waverly’s slightly panicked expression.

“It’s all good, if you come with me I’ll just show you the knack to it,” she adds, leading Waverly to the bathroom. Neither Dolls nor Jeremy are working today, so the rest of the flat is quiet and still.

Nicole fires up the shower for Waverly, bringing her a set of spare towels before leaving.

“I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done probably. We don’t have green tea but I’ll get some chamomile ready yeah? You drink that one too right?”

“I do,” Waverly says, looking surprised that Nicole has remembered.

“And since you know my breakfast habits we don’t have a ton of food, but I figure if we leave quickly enough we can call into somewhere on the way.”

“Sorry, you usually run in don’t you?” Waverly says, biting her lip.

“I do, but I’ll take an excuse to be lazy for once,” Nicole says, dismissing the concern before leaving Waverly to wash up. “There’s like a bunch of toiletries of mine in the third draw in that little dresser thingy over there,” she says, pointing. “Just take what you need.”

For the umpteenth time, Waverly thanks her.

“You’re a great host,” she adds, as Nicole leaves the bathroom and shuts the door gently behind her. The lock clicks a moment later, and Nicole pads back off to braid her hair and get the tea ready.

 

 

 

 

 

“Better?” Nicole asks when Waverly walks nervously into the kitchen, her skin a beautiful shade of pink from the warm water and her damp hair up in a loose bun.

She nods, hovering in that way of being in an unfamiliar house.

“Make yourself at home,” Nicole says, gesturing to the kitchen table and Waverly takes a seat, sitting up formally. It makes Nicole smile. “You can relax, you know. You’re always welcome here, no formalities required.”

Waverly’s shoulders ease a little and she immediately tucks her right foot underneath her on the chair.

“Sorry, I guess I just feel a bit embarrassed that you had to take care of me last night.”

Nicole sets two cups of tea on the table and sits opposite Waverly.

“It wasn’t that bad. Wynonna’s a wanderer but you were mostly just tired. It’s not like I was holding your hair back all night or anything - not that I’d have cared.” Nicole shrugs. “We’ve all been there.”

Waverly gives her a grateful look and takes her cup of tea, blowing on the surface to cool it down.

Nicole checks her phone. “We’ve got time,” she tells Waverly. “It’s only a couple of stops on the metro, not sure if you remember that or not,” she says with a cheeky grin.

Waverly looks bashful. “Not really, no. I do remember being on the subway though, so that’s a point to me. There was pizza involved, I think.”

“Yeah, you wanted me to put the bag of food on your lap to warm you up,” Nicole clarifies. “Drunk Waverly is resourceful I’ll give her that,” she says, raising her cup in a mock toast to that particular version of the woman sitting in front of her.

“Okay, final question because I can’t take any more recaps right now. I cannot believe I’m asking this but please tell me I did not order something really stupid from the takeout.”

Waverly doesn’t specify her exact meaning but Nicole can make the correct inference just fine.

“What are you, like a social smoker except with food you shouldn’t eat?” Nicole jokes and Waverly bats at her arm across the table. “A social meat-eater,” Nicole says, snorting at the potential for a double entendre.

“ _No_ ,” Waverly insists with a pout. “I just wasn’t really...on top of things, evidently. I just want to know I didn’t order like a Hawaiian pizza or something because I drunkenly forgot it involves ham.”

Nicole snorts again. “Waverly if you’d ordered a Hawaiian pizza the real problem would have been the pineapple.”

Waverly puts both her hands up. “Okay, wow. I cannot get into a ‘pineapple on pizza’ discourse with you right now.”

“If you tell me you like it then I’m unfriending you, in real life and to your face, right this instant.”

“I don’t care for it, it’s just not the monster everyone makes it out to be,” Waverly explains. “It’s a dumb choice, a waste of a good pizza opportunity sure - but it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

“It is,” Nicole says, wrinkling her nose but lets the conversation slide. “And for the record, no you did not socially eat meat last night,” Nicole confirms, trying not to laugh again. “I would not have let you order pepperoni or something.”

“Of all the people I thought would find that funny, you were not among them,” Waverly says, feigning disappointment. “But thank you for confirming. And for looking out for me yet again.”

“Any time,” Nicole says obligingly, and they quickly fall into a companionable silence while they drink their tea. Waverly ends up scrolling on her phone (charging up from almost nothing thanks to Nicole’s earlier provision of a power bank) while Nicole flips through a paper from the day before.

After a moment or two Waverly shuffles around in her chair, impossibly curling her other leg beneath her and effectively somehow sitting cross-legged. Nicole watches out of the corner of her eye as Waverly moves absently, clearly relaxing and making herself comfortable (not that the position looks it from Nicole’s perspective).

They finish their tea with a few more instances of small talk, but very little needs to pass between them verbally.

Waverly hums gently to herself as she checks her emails, so quiet that Nicole would think she was imagining things if it wasn’t a habit of Waverly’s to which she was already accustomed.

This, the occasional rustle of pages, and the gentle gurgling of the fridge is all that really punctuates the early morning hush. At one point, they both reach for their tea at the same time and they catch each other’s eye. Waverly smiles, still looking shy and slightly bashful.

Silently, Nicole smiles back; words feel superfluous.

It is all so domestic, so sickeningly sweet, that Nicole is surprised they don’t both have a toothache.

In fact, it is hard for them both to drag themselves away when the time comes, Nicole collecting up their mugs and swilling them out in the sink. In a reversal of time spent together months before, Waverly collects up a towel and dries the cups, leaving them on the side to air.

Then there is the business of gathering bags (Waverly is going to leave her dress to collect later) while Nicole tries to find a pair of shoes that won’t be entirely too big on Waverly.

Just as they are heading out the door, Waverly turns urgently to Nicole.

“Wait. What about Wynonna? Should I wake her quickly before we leave?”

Nicole shakes her head emphatically.

“Nah, let her rest properly. One of us should get that. If you think she’ll be okay with us leaving her, that is. Dolls and Jeremy know she’s there, but Jeremy will be asleep as long as her probably, and Dolls doesn’t use the living room all that much unless we’re all there.”

“Are you sure? We’ve imposed enough Nicole,” Waverly bites her lip as they both shrug into their jackets. Even in the corridor on the way to the atrium, they can feel the icy pinpricks of the unforgiving December air.

Nicole laughs gently.

“Waverly, you’re my _friends._ You’re not imposing - you don’t have to worry that you are.”

“But - ”

“Dolls, Jeremy, and I all went to college not all that long ago; we’re used to completely random strangers turning up on our couches. And Wynonna’s a friend, not a stranger. So it’s fine.”

Nonetheless, Waverly does not look entirely convinced until Nicole makes a show of sending a message to Dolls and Jeremy, explaining that Wynonna will be with them for a while longer.

“Tell them I’m sorry,” Waverly instructs as they step outside, frost on the ground crunching slightly beneath their feet.

“I’m not gonna tell them you’re sorry when you’ve caused literally zero inconvenience to them Wave.”

I would seem that the nickname has slipped into her speech pattern as easily as breathing. It settles nicely between them, both of them content with the ever increasing familiarity in their interactions.

“ _Nicole_ ,” Waverly pleads, letting herself be lead in the direction of the subway.

“ _Waverly_ ,” Nicole parrots, drawing out the vowels to the point of absurdity.

“Please. I don’t want to be rude.”

They approach a crossing, the streets already bustling and a crowd of people forming at the junction, all waiting for the green signal to walk on.

“Yes, because rudeness is a well-known and prevailing trait of yours.”

“Fine, I’ll just text them myself.”

They both know that Waverly doesn’t have a phone number for either of Nicole’s flatmates, but clearly this detail hasn’t perturbed Waverly herself.

“Oh yeah? And how are you going to manage that?” Nicole asks in playful challenge.

“I’ll fight you for your phone if I have to, just to prove a point,” Waverly jokes without hesitation.

They finally stop and wait to cross the road, and Nicole chances a sideways glance down at Waverly.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Waverly says as she dives enthusiastically for Nicole’s phone. On instinct, Nicole draws it closer to her body and Waverly’s roving hands follow. She manages to get a slight grasp on the phone, fingers tangling amongst Nicole’s where she’s holding on for dear life, grip intractable.

It is a pointless battle because Nicole has the upper hand and can easily turn her body to block Waverly with her shoulder, but they continue to scuffle anyway. A couple of weekend workers cast them a bemused glance but neither of them care - this is far from the weirdest thing they’ll see in the city today.

They both laugh quietly, breathlessly, as they scuffle and Waverly’s fingers dig in tighter, grazing Nicole’s stomach as she gives a valiant fight.

The sensation makes Nicole squirm, but she doesn’t let go of the phone and they are forced to end the fight when the ‘walk’ light illuminates in green.

Nicole gives Waverly a deliberate smirk as she pointedly zips her phone into her jacket pocket (the one furthest from Waverly).

Waverly huffs a dramatic sigh.

“You think you’ve won - ”

“Oh I think we both know I won,” Nicole teases as they reach the subway. They both dart down the stairs perfectly in step, clearing the barriers smoothly as Nicole heads towards the right line on muscle memory alone.

“ - but I just found out you’re ticklish, so I think _I’m_ the real winner here.”

Nicole narrows her eyes at Waverly as they come to a halt on their platform.

Their timing is impeccable and the train arrives. It is bustling with more retail workers on their early-morning commutes, but not so busy that they don’t find seats for the short journey.

“If you so much as think of telling anyone that,” Nicole says, quickly shucking her backpack off her shoulders so she can sit down, “then next time, I’m going to film the dumb, adorable stuff you do when drunk and I’m going to put it _all_ on _Facebook_.”

“Oh I’m not going to _tell_ anyone,” Waverly replies with a sly smile. “I’m just going to save it up here and use it when you least expect it,” she adds, tapping her head with one finger.

“You wouldn't.”

“Oh Nicole, you could not be more wrong if you tried.”

 

 

 

 

 

They get out of the subway in good enough time to stop at a cafe for coffee and pastries, the little artisan store warm, cosy, and smelling deliciously of sugared dough and cinnamon.

They both spend a few minutes at the counter stuck between the same two choices although, really, everything looks tempting after a late night of drinking.

In the end they buy one of each treat and break them in half on their way back outside, trading pieces as they walk.

By the time they arrive at the museum and Nicole lets them both in, any residual embarrassment they (but mostly Waverly) might have harboured as a result of a hazy, half-remembered night of drinking is gone.

They’re slightly later than normal, and Waverly has to dart off to change, and although Nicole notices the absence of their usual routine as she waits for work to start, this morning’s system has suited her even better.

She makes a particular point of trying to ignore how much she’d like to do it again (and again) - the early morning routine with Waverly.

Still, Nicole cannot help but think about how easy it would be to spend every morning waking up like that, moving round each other to dress and get ready, sharing tea together like it is the most natural thing in the world…

 

 

 

 

 

There are a good deal of nursed hangovers in the museum that day and even a few no-shows, and the museum is predictably busier for the weekend rush. An argument could be made that it is a blessing as it provides everyone with enough distractions to power through the nausea, headaches, and (in Nicole’s case), the relentless exhaustion.

Nonetheless, by lunchtime it feels more like a curse and Nicole has to fight to keep her eyes open as she picks at a sandwich bought from the adjoining cafe.

Waverly, when she visits the staffroom, looks like she’s faring about as poorly and she immediately slumps ungracefully onto the couch beside Nicole.

They share a knowing, pained look and, with yet another groan, Waverly immediately lets her head drop heavily onto Nicole’s shoulder.

“God, why did we do this ourselves,” she grumbles, her temple poking uncomfortably against the bone of Nicole’s shoulder, although does not Nicole think to move her.

“I honestly have no idea,” Nicole grouses, screwing up the sandwich wrapper and launching it successfully into the bin across the room before starting on an apple she’d snagged from home.  

“It makes me feel even more ill that you still have such good aim right now,” Waverly adds, pretending to sulk. “I literally walked into a door earlier.”

Nicole fails to hold in her amusement at the mental image she gains from Waverly’s admission.

“Well they’ll be arming me in a few months so don’t complain too much about it.”

“Please don’t go there right now,” Waverly sighs and Nicole furrows her brow, not quite following.

“Hmm?”

“I’m too hungover for you to remind me that you’re leaving soon.”

Nicole smiles to herself. “Waverly I have at least four months before I’ll probably go on study leave.”

“That will go super fast,” Waverly says with a pout, crossing her arms in defiance. “So it’s soon.”

Nicole hums. “If you say so.”

“I _do_. So give the hungover lady the benefit of this one, please.”

“Still bad, huh?”

“I guess I’ve been worse,” Waverly admits and Nicole snorts.

“Haven’t we all?”

“Yeah true. I’m just feeling sorry for myself and feeling jealous that my sister has probably only just woken up.”

“Oh yeah. I wonder how _she’s_ holding up this afternoon.”

 

 

 

 

 

(Unbeknownst to those at the museum, across town Dolls is dicing with death as he risks disturbing Wynonna on the basis that he should probably check that she is, in fact, okay. Having scarcely heard a sound from the living room all day, as the clock nears 2pm, it cannot be put off any longer.

He knocks on the door and, upon receiving no response, cracks it open, squinting to make out a form in the darkened room.

His eyes adjust and he finds Wynonna awake - but only just; her hair piled up on her head like a bird’s nest, her face pale and tired but illuminated by the blue glow of her cell phone.

“I didn’t know if I should get up, given that I’ve never been here before,” Wynonna says by way of greeting when she sees him, her voice cracking slightly under her hangover. “Honestly, I don’t even remember how I ended up on the couch.”

“Nicole told me you just decided you wanted to sleep, so you got on the couch and went out like a light, I figured that sounded about right,” Dolls jokes.

Just visible in the dark, Wynonna quirks an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“I kind of get the impression that once you’ve decided on something you make it happen, no matter how small. Also, I work in law enforcement and I literally don’t know anyone who would want to tell you ‘no’,” Dolls explains with a small smirk, which Wynonna returns without hesitation.

“Yeah, me and law enforcement aren’t exactly on good terms. Historically speaking.”

Dolls laughs. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hah, cute,” Wynonna deadpans. “So did you just turn up to give me shit since I’m using your couch without invitation?”

“I’m pretty sure Nicole invited you in,” Dolls says with a shrug. “I actually felt compelled to check you were okay. And I thought you might want food, or more water.”

Wynonna screws up her face and thinks, evidently weighing up her hangover against her hunger.

Eventually, the latter wins out.

“I could eat,” she admits.

“Cool, well it’s Saturday so the rules are that if you miss breakfast then you have it at lunchtime,” Dolls says.

“Good rule.”

“Also we have no other food in right now. But I do make a mean omelette,” he tells her, “join me if you like. You can take a shower first if you need.”

“Are you trying to imply something?” Wynonna jokes as she finally stretches and sits up.

“Me? Never. Just, don’t be offended if it smells of air freshener in here when you get back. Nothing personal, I just prefer it to whiskey.”

Wynonna runs her hands over her face as Dolls heads for the kitchen, leaving the door open behind him.

“Is _everyone_ in this flat just a total asshole or something? I love it.”)

 

 

 

 

 

“Dolls texted,” Nicole tells Waverly, having made a point of knocking on her office door to pass the message on.

 

Waverly immediately sets her pen down as Nicole shuts the door behind her.

“Yeah? Nice of him to message you given that my sister hasn’t bothered with me.”

Nicole steps over towards the desk and shows Waverly a selfie of Wynonna reclining leisurely on their couch. A bemused and a slightly uncertain-looking Dolls is clearly squished beside her in the tiny remaining space, holding his phone out to capture the picture and demonstrate the invasion on their flat. The remnants of a breakfast of sorts is visible on the coffee table.

Waverly rolls her eyes and shakes her head to herself, amused and affectionate.

“What a jerk,” she says, her tone belying a fondness not necessarily obvious in her words.

“I think Wynonna’s phone died,” Nicole says, scrolling through her messages to find one in particular. “Yeah, apparently she dropped it although it must have been when I wasn’t looking because I don’t remember.”

Again, Waverly shakes her head.

“Dolls says: ‘can you send your address to him so Wynonna can have it - she’s going to order a cab’,” Nicole adds, acting as go-between. She checks the time on the top of her phone. “Although, if you ask me she might as well just stay for dinner. We could pick something up on the way?”

“I’m sure Dolls can’t wait to see the back of her,” Waverly replies evasively. “She’s well and truly outstaying her welcome.”

“Not in the slightest; he’s all front. Don’t tell him I told you so, but he’s a big softie really. You just gotta crack the hard exterior.”

“Well that is in Wynonna’s wheelhouse. Especially if by ‘crack’ you mean ‘take a sledgehammer to it’.”

“I’ve noticed,” Nicole observes wryly. “You should probably give her the address for future reference either way, but I have put the idea of dinner out there just in case.”  

She hands the phone over and Waverly immediately starts sending a message that is clearly much longer than simply an address. Nicole bites back a smile.

“Unless you want to skip coming over tonight, and I’ll just bring the dress tomorrow?” Nicole asks as Waverly types.

“Sorry?” Waverly asks, clearly only half-listening.

Nicole feels a pang of uncertainty. “Tomorrow? Coffee? If you still want to go?”

“ _Oh_ , yes - it’s Sunday tomorrow,” Waverly says enthusiastically as she sends the message and looks up. “Sorry, lost track of what day it is entirely. Of course I still want to go, it’s been getting me through this week.”

“Me too,” Nicole admits as Waverly hands her phone back.  

Waverly’s fingers brush against Nicole’s for a second and, unless Nicole is very much mistaken, they linger for a beat or two longer than strictly necessary.

Nicole clears her throat, casting about for something to say as Waverly finally withdraws her hand.

“Feeling any better yet?”

Waverly wrinkles her nose.

“Pretty much, thanks. I’ve been drinking my own body weight in water.”

Nicole nods approvingly. “Good tactic.”

“Arguably yes, but I feel like now my head’s clearing a little _too_ much, and everything keeps coming back to me.”

Waverly puts an emphasis on the word ‘everything’ that Nicole can’t quite decipher. She isn’t sure if it’s deliberate, but she suspects it might be. She isn’t sure if she’s supposed to respond directly.

Nicole watches as, from her seat at her desk, Waverly looks earnestly up at her.  

Waverly’s eyes look brighter and clearer than Nicole has seen them all day, and there is an honesty on her face that Nicole wants to respond to in kind. But, as she stands there, she can hear guests and colleagues pacing back and forth in different rooms, and she can taste the risk of talking about _things_ here and now.

So, she smiles gently and ducks her head. “My gran always used to tell me that it was better the devil you know.”

Her evasion is evident the moment she goes ahead with it, pulling the air between them so that it is taut and moderately uncomfortable. If Waverly’s expression flickers, however, it is only for the merest of seconds.

“Well, the devil can suck it,” she says with a tinkling laugh that feels almost forced. “I’d rather not remember embarrassing myself in front of museum volunteers.”

Acutely aware that she has overstretched her bathroom break to the extreme, Nicole excuses herself a moment later.  

As she shuts the door behind her, her phone buzzes.

[Dolls, 14:24] “Wynonna says, order the spiciest Chinese food you can.”

Nicole thinks about the atmosphere she’d left in the room behind her, suspecting already that it might not stay there but would follow them home like an unwanted guest. It would doubtless be observable to their decidedly more desired guests, which is exactly the opposite of how Nicole had wanted to end her day.

 

 

 

 

 

Throughout the afternoon, as it quietens down, staff members peel off in droves.

Everyone looks green around the gills and Nicole doesn’t have the heart to make people stay with her when there’s no need to keep them at work. Contractually, she has no option but to see the day through, but others needn’t suffer with her.

Well, except for Waverly who is travelling back with her and who has enough work to keep an army out of mischief. 

They shut up together as they normally do, and the strange mood from earlier follows Waverly out of her office.

Keen to dissipate it (not least because of their arrangement for tomorrow), Nicole keeps her busy asking about the new exhibit and Waverly falls immediately into talking about her plans. 

She explains the exhibit as they track through the darkened Beaumont Room, overhead lights off but Christmas-themed fairy lights still fluttering, waiting to be turned off for the rest of the weekend. 

Waverly stops at the part of the room she wants to turn over to her new exhibit. 

“I’m still working on the source material we might be able to snag from a museum in New Mexico,” Waverly explains.

“Technical term for the process?” 

Waverly snorts. “Yeah, best part of a decade in college and that’s as good as it gets.”

“Sorry, go on.”

“No, it’s fine. Anyway there’s some great testimonials from people who experienced the failures of the  _ Removal Act _ first-hand. It’s a miracle we still have them really, oral traditions are wonderful things but not lent towards Western-academic sensibilities,” Waverly explains. “And why should they be?” she adds, demonstrating the kind of thought that made her every idea so new and foreign to the established museum payroll. 

“I’m thinking of trying to get people to read them out and have the audio files playing on headsets. It’s nothing revolutionary but it seems more respectful than writing them down when, like I say, it comes from a totally different culture of recording information.” 

Nicole voices her approval, but Waverly grimaces.

“It’s not popular - too much modern tech and not enough understanding as to why we can’t just print it for the walls. My concern is more that it’s exclusionary if people can’t hear the headsets well.” 

Nicole nods, and they hover in the room, batting alternate solutions back and forth. When the ideas peter out and they both fall silent, Waverly smiles before turning to leave.

“I always really appreciate you letting me wax lyrical about my ideas.” 

“Always,” Nicole murmurs. 

Waverly takes a step away from the cabinet as if to leave, and ends up closer to Nicole who, for once, does not move in step.

Instead, her mind is elsewhere; it hovers somewhere up amongst the stars or, more accurately, amongst the sparkling Christmas lights. Clustered together as they are, their gentle yellow light is like fronds of gold on Waverly’s cheeks and they illuminate her face in much the same way her passion does. Combined, they make her glow. 

There is no one around now, no excuses, no reason not to be brave. But deep down, Nicole knows she has been waiting to be certain that Waverly wants,  _ needs _ , something to happen as much as Nicole herself does.

It is there now, that certainty. It is surfing in Sagan’s starstuff between them, and never has it been more obvious than when Waverly says Nicole’s name, voice a whisper and eyes afire in the low light. It is the same voice she had used not twenty-four hours ago as she laid beside Nicole, her body warm for once but her heart warmer still. 

Strings on a bow, something pulls tighter between them, but in a way that is so much kinder than before.

They’re drawn together, it feels as though they’d always have been destined to come together, and they can _feel_ the moment that they both give in to it.  It is tangible, the way the yearning becomes too much to bear.

Nicole drifts her fingers to Waverly’s cheek, grazing them softly along her skin and into her hair, tucking it tenderly behind her ear. A moment passes, a flutter soft as a butterfly’s wing, before Nicole anchors her fingers loosely at Waverly’s jaw, the touch soft but purposeful. 

Time loses any sense, the room around them ceases to have form. It is only the two of them standing, waiting, anticipating.

When Nicole finally dips her lips towards Waverly’s, she still moves slowly, giving Waverly time to pull away if she wants. 

But Waverly doesn’t drift backwards - they both know deep down that she won’t. Instead she stretches up, neck craning slightly to meet Nicole halfway, the two of them perfectly in sync. 

Waverly’s hands slide around Nicole’s neck, scrabbling for purchase; her fingers are as cold as always and now Nicole has two reasons to shiver. 

When their lips finally ghost together, they meet each other evenly in a kiss that is soft as a sigh, gentle as gossamer. 

It stays soft for a while, their lips sliding together gracefully - surprisingly so, making it hard to believe they’ve never done this before. 

(And really, Nicole is questioning  _ why _ they’ve never done this before, why they waited so long. Because she feels the kiss in the tips of her fingers and right down to the soles of her feet and further, like its essence comes from somewhere rooted deep in the earth.)

She drifts her hands down to the graceful curve of Waverly’s hips, pulling them closer so that they’re close to touching, close to connecting at every possible point. 

Still, she is conscious enough to keep a small distance, aware that it is Waverly who should really set the pace here. 

And she does. Oh, she does. 

She deepens the kiss slightly of her own accord, varying the pressure and, eventually, lightly trapping Nicole’s bottom lip between her teeth. 

Nicole feels her breath hitch in at the delicious scrape of Waverly’s teeth, and her fingers tighten slightly on Waverly’s hips of their own accord. 

Her reaction makes Waverly withdraw slightly, tensing almost imperceptibly and perhaps feeling a little unsure. Quickly, Nicole chases Waverly’s lips with her own, begging her  _ please don’t stop _ and drawing out the kiss for a few more exquisite seconds. She feels Waverly relax beneath her fingers again, and when they finally do pull away, punch-drunk and slightly short of breath, Waverly draws back with a tiny sigh, barely audible but completely contented in nature. 

They stare at each other in slightly stunned silence for a moment or two, both evidently trying to process what has just happened. 

At this distance, Waverly can just about lean in to tilt their foreheads together and Nicole uses the proximity like a confessional. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she breathes, impossibly quiet but still audible enough for Waverly to catch each word. 

Nicole can feel Waverly’s smile in the play of muscles beneath her fingertips, and she can hear the smile in Waverly’s voice.

“It would have happened sooner if I’d have followed through last night, when I was feeling braver.”

Nicole pulls back so that they can look each other in the eye.  

“Waverly, I - ”

Quickly, Waverly hushes her before she can say any more. Finally she unlocks her fingers from around Nicole’s neck, moving instead to trace the soft pad on her index finger over Nicole’s lips. 

“I’m just kidding. I really appreciate what you did last night, I was just too embarrassed to bring it up later. Besides, as first kisses go, I’d have picked this one any day.” Waverly lets her own words settle, before hurrying to clarify them. “Not that there’d have been a bad one, not if it was with you.” 

Nicole lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I mean that was - ”

“Oh my goodness,” Waverly sounds relieved that the thought has crossed Nicole’s mind too. “It  _ was _ , wasn’t it?” 

“Wait actually,” Nicole says, fighting a huge grin as she pretends to reconsider. “I’m not sure - just remind me how it goes again?”

Waverly laughs at the dumb line, but she doesn’t hesitate for a second. Immediately, she rises back up onto the tips of her toes, with her hand firmly at the back of Nicole’s head. She tangles her fingers in Nicole’s hair as best she can given her braid, bringing their lips together again, and there are no fewer butterflies in Nicole’s stomach than the time before. 

Time could easily have drifted on unchecked then, had it not been for Nicole’s phone vibrating in her pocket - a text from Dolls, asking if it was too late for a takeout order amendment.

Nicole snorts quietly to herself and turns the screen to Waverly who laughs along, both of them amused at how easily any thoughts of dinner has passed them by. 

She lets Waverly move her fingers aimlessly through her braid as she quickly fires a message back -

[Nicole Haught, 18:42] Not too late, we’re actually still at work.

When Dolls replies, Waverly decides that she wants to read along in real time. She drifts behind Nicole and rests one arm on Nicole’s back, fingers lightly hooked on Nicole’s waist. Her head nudges gently against Nicole’s right arm so that she can see the screen. 

It is somehow comforting to see that she is as tactile as ever - more so, now that they’ve both taken that particular step.

[Dolls, 18:43 WTF?? Seriously?! We’re hungry you guys!!  
[Dolls, 18:43] (That was Wynonna btw)  
[Nicole Haught, 18:44]: Idk maybe make yourselves useful ad call the order in for collection so we get our food quicker??[Nicole Haught, 18:45]: We’re leaving now  
[Dolls, 18:45]: Shit tone, good plan - will do.  
[Dolls, 18:45] Everything okay out there - was there a problem?  
[Nicole Haught, 18:46]: No nothing like that - just got held up shutting up shop. 

Waverly chuckles at Nicole’s evasive response. 

“Smooth.”

Nicole chances a glance down at Waverly’s face, to make sure she was happy with the evasion. It wasn’t as though Nicole would have rushed to update her friends on this new development - like something out of a romantic comedy, but she also kind of figured Waverly was going to need some time and a little bit of privacy. 

They’ve never talked about this kind of thing, but Nicole wouldn’t mind betting that this is all very new to Waverly. She still knows exactly what she’d have liked to have heard at this stage. 

“Haven’t we already agreed I’m good at keeping things quiet?” she teases, locking her phone and putting it back in her pocket before indicating that they should make moves to leave. 

A look passes over Waverly’s face as they walk, one that suggests that she is thinking hard. She opens her mouth to speak but closes it again without saying anything. Then, she tries again.

“Is that - I mean, are you - ” 

Nicole gives her time, lets her try to formulate her thoughts, but doesn’t wait to so long as to be unfair. 

“Do you want to talk? Like just properly talk? We can blow off dinner with Dolls and Wynonna you know.” 

“I do,” begins slowly, “want to talk, that is. But I think, if you’re okay with it, we should keep to our plan. We can talk about everything tomorrow, yeah?” Waverly looks hopeful, emotions laid bare in front of Nicole. And because Waverly wears her feelings on her face, letting Nicole see, it is clear that she is nervous - as though she is worried that her baby steps might not be enough for Nicole. 

But Nicole knows, already, that so long as it is Waverly walking with her, then it will always be enough. 

“Ah yes,” Nicole says, holding the door open for Waverly to pass through. “We can call it a date now,” she adds playfully.

“I think I was always calling it a date,” Waverly admits quietly, gaze firmly on her feet as they walk down the corridor. 

This gives Nicole pause. Of course she’d wondered but Waverly had been so overt in her description of them as friends. 

Evidently intrigued by Nicole’s silence, Waverly chances a glance at her and she smiles when she sees the look on Nicole’s face.

“You don’t have to look so surprised, you know. I’ve been trying to work this,” she gestures between them, “out in my own head for ages. I thought I was being kind of obvious.” 

Nicole pauses just outside the front door where their bags are already waiting for them. She takes a breath. 

Cards on the table. 

“I wasn’t going to let myself hope too much, I guess. You’re  _ wonderful _ , Waverly. You’re every superlative I can’t think of right now, in fact, and I - ”

“You are too,” Waverly fills in quickly, looking surprisingly shy all of a sudden. “You’re wonderful and I hope you’ll get to see it like I do. You’re so wonderful Nicole and I really don’t know how to do this,” again, Waverly gestures between them. “So if you need more...”

She doesn’t finish her sentence but the implication is clear. 

_ I’ve never done this before, so if you need more than I know how to give right now, then say so, please. _

“I don’t care about that,” Nicole says quickly, because it is the truth. 

Waverly looks unsure but, at least, placated for now as they shrug into coats and bundle up beneath scarves and hats. They leave, Nicole locks up, and before they have made it even two feet along the road Waverly has wound their arms together, drawing their bodies as close as possible whilst they are walking. 

They pace along in relative silence, weaving around crowds of people and making a beeline for a Nicole et al’s favourite Chinese takeout joint. It is packed to the rafters, as predicted, but it is also warm and there’s a spare seat in the waiting area, so it could be worse. 

In fact, it could be a lot worse Nicole realises as Waverly insists that Nicole take the empty seat, only to perch herself on Nicole’s knees a moment later. 

She leans back so that her head is once again on Nicole’s shoulder. 

“Tell me if I get too heavy yeah?”

“Waverly you literally don’t weigh anything.” 

“Well after pizza last night and Chinese tonight, that’s not gonna last forever you know,” Waverly replies with a laugh, turning her head slightly towards Nicole’s neck. Muffled but audible, she whispers, “are you still gonna fancy me when I look completely different from all the takeout?”

It is obvious that she is making a joke, but somehow Nicole responds completely without thinking.

“I’m pretty sure I’d still fancy you when you’re 83 and all grey and wrinkly and grumpy because you’re old.” 

Immediately, she regrets it - it had been an off the cuff comment but she doesn’t want to put more pressure on Waverly than she must already be feeling. Her comment about not knowing what she is doing is enough to confirm this - after all, she has just kissed another girl for what is probably the first time, and at her place of work no less. 

However, instead of tensing up or drawing back, Waverly pouts and Nicole feels it against her neck.

“How dare you? I’m gonna be old and jolly, not old and grumpy.” 

“That is a very fair point,” Nicole concedes immediately, relieved that Waverly hasn’t appeared to have read too much into the previous comment. 

In fact, Waverly doesn’t seem perturbed at all as she plays with Nicole’s hand while they wait for their food, and then again as they stand on the subway, squeezed together in the heaving compartment. 

But then they’re back at Nicole’s flat and they realise they haven’t really discussed much of anything about what has happened between them, nor how to play it in front of their company for the evening. 

Nicole lets them into the atrium and along the ground floor corridor and still it is not mentioned. But then, just as she goes to unlock the front door to the flat, Waverly stops her with an urgent hand on her arm.

“Wait,” she says, reaching up and latching a hand on either side of Nicole’s coat, her fingers fisting into the lapels. She uses her purchase to drag Nicole closer, bringing their lips together in a kiss that is hotter, fiercer than the ones they shared earlier. They ignore the way that the takeout bag in Nicole’s hand is trapped awkwardly at the side of them, and the kiss extends quickly, neither wanting to break apart. Eventually, however, they are forced to do so and Nicole pulls back with a stunned look on her face.

“What was that for?”

Waverly looks haughty at the question, stepping back slightly and drawing herself to her full but limited height. 

“I don’t need a reason,” she says imperiously, before her bravado falters slightly, “...do I?”

This is all new, after all, and the parameters of what they want have not yet been set. 

Nicole smiles down at her gently.

“Of course not. I just kind of feel like there  _ was _ one this time.” 

“Well I’m not going to be able to do it again for hours, can you blame me?” 

“I seriously love that you’re planning ahead.” 

 

 

 

 

 

The problem, Nicole realises by about 8pm, is that now she knows that she _can_ kiss Waverly, it’s actually kind of hard to justify doing anything else.

It is harder still to act as though nothing has changed in the presence of others. 

Because it might just have been a few kisses so far, but there is already some unspoken assent between them that, ideally, there is more at play than only that. Nicole already knows that she desires as much as Waverly wants to give - preferably dates and a relationship in whatever form that might take. That will come with time, however, and for now there is a crowded, loud dinner with Dolls, Wynonna, and Jeremy to get through. 

The food is good, the company is better still, but all Nicole really wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep. Preferably this would happen with Waverly by her side again but that certainly won’t be an option tonight. Plus, at this point, slumber is really at the heart of this particular siren song. 

It is probably only this desire for sleep that makes it possible for both Nicole and Waverly to maintain the illusion that nothing remotely exciting has happened to them in the past few hours. 

They manage to occupy seats in the living room that are not situated together, for one. Their verbal interactions are limited significantly by this fact, and they find that keeping any shared, significant looks to a minimum is much easier when their eyes are already drooping shut to chase a few moments of rest. 

In fact, they succumb to the magnetic attraction between them only twice; once, when Nicole goes to the kitchen for a fresh glass of water and is bombarded by requests for drinks and cutlery and more tissues for spilt sauce. 

“I’ll help you,” Waverly says, rising from her spot on the couch by Wynonna (being a host, Nicole had taken the floor) and gathering a few empty containers from the coffee table. 

Nicole works to keep her face level. “Yeah, if you’re sure. Thanks.”

Their retreat into the hallway is as slow as they can muster, a good three feet left between them. 

The last to leave the room, Waverly makes sure to shut the door firmly behind her.

They make it into the kitchen, but they are on each other before they even fully cross the room, Waverly carelessly discarding the little cardboard boxes on the nearest available space so that her hands are free to roam up and down Nicole’s back. 

They return to the living room an almost appropriate amount of time later, Nicole praying that it isn’t too obvious that, barely two seconds before, Waverly had been kissing her senseless.

It is reassuring, at least, to know that Waverly feels the same insatiable pull towards Nicole now that the dam has finally broken and all their pent up feelings are left to rush through. 

They give in again right before an overtired Wynonna and Waverly leave the flat before the clock even rings ten. 

Waverly follows Nicole into her room under the pretence of collecting her dress and shoes, but they spend longer sat side-by-side on the edge of Nicole’s bed, lips roaming and hands reaching, than they do packing up any clothes. 

They confirm their plans for the next day before they rejoin the others, and part with a solitary, chaste peck before finally leaving. 

When the door shuts behind the sisters (both of whom swear on pain of death to once again let everyone know they made it home), Nicole feels the absence acutely, but feels her exhaustion just as much so.

It has been an impossibly long day, with a lot having happened that she needs to process.

She starts mulling it over as she swills their plates and cutlery under the warm tap, ready to load into the dishwasher. 

She senses someone behind her before they speak, and Dolls knows her well enough to anticipate this. 

“Everything okay?” he asks softly, already confident enough that he won’t startle her. She turns her head briefly to see him watching her from the doorway.

Nicole blinks, confused at the question.

“Of course. Unless you count the exhaustion.”

“So just a nice, normal day at work? A nice normal evening meal? Nothing out of the ordinary to report upon?” 

“What are you getting at?” Nicole asks, narrowing her eyes. 

Dolls flashes her a significant look, one that is very much intended to say  _ ‘oh drop it _ ’. 

“You know how I always tell Jeremy I know everything?” 

“Yes,” Nicole says, drawing the single syllable out into a question because she does  _ not _ like where this is heading. 

“Well. I stand by it,” he replies as he crosses his arms loosely across his chest. “Just here to say I’m happy for you. She’s really good for you.”

He tips her a wink that makes him look very unlike the Dolls she is used to. In fact, she almost wishes he could take it back. She thinks briefly about playing dumb but, by the look on Dolls’ face, it would be pointless. 

  
“Dude. What the  _ hell _ ?” Nicole cries in exasperation, echoing Jeremy from a few weeks ago. Suddenly she feels a whole new level of sympathy for him. 

Dolls just quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh no,” Nicole says, shaking her head. “No I’m not just gonna accept this. Because we did  _ everything _ right - we weren’t too clingy, we didn’t do anything obvious, and trust me my door was firmly shut earlier - I checked.” 

“That’s just it,” Dolls tells her with a shrug. “You tried way, way too hard. You totally stopped flirting and giving each other really gross, gooey eyes. It was obvious - I might  _ not _ know everything but I’m not stupid.” 

Nicole glares at him.

“Just, don’t tell Wynonna, okay? It’s literally just happened today and honestly Waverly needs time to wrap her head around everything. So zip this,” she mimes drawing zipper across her lips. 

“Even if I would do that to either of you - I  _ wouldn’t _ by the way and you know it - what makes you think I’ll even have further opportunity to tell Wynonna anything?”

“Oh Dolls,” Nicole says, glad to have a more even footing in this conversation. “I have eyes and they work well enough.  _ I’m _ not stupid either.” 

The tables well and truly turned, Dolls wisely elects to end the conversation.

As he backs out of the room, Nicole is certain she hears him mutter ‘ _ touché _ ’ under his breath, predictably aiming for the last word as always. 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole retires to bed barely five minutes later, curling up contentedly with Calamity Jane. 

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag already,” she grumbles sleepily, unhappy about being caught already but quite pleased with her little joke. 

The cat, the real one, purrs in response. 

“Please, it was a good joke.”

But Calamity Jane is already asleep and Nicole doesn’t take long to join her, her spirit the lightest she can ever remember it feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo…what do you think? for some reason i always get extra extra nervous posting a chapter where an otp finally get together, so any extra reassurance you can provide that this update was okay would be much appreciated.
> 
> i’m pretty sure this will be the final chapter of this length, but i’ll be hopefully putting up an epilogue of a shorter length before christmas. that way i can get started on a few other ideas i’ve had drifting around, and i can begin editing my next multi-chaptered au. 
> 
> also, a few extra points of business: firstly, ticklish nicole is absolutely one of my favourite nicoles. she makes a short appearance in my next au, because i really do just love her that much. secondly, i just want the record to reflect that ‘social meat eater’ is based on a real discussion between me and my friends, wherein someone admitted that (as either vegetarian or vegan at the time) they went on a night out and drunkenly forgot that they couldn’t order and eat chicken pad thai on the way home. they’d been vegetarian for years by this point. we decided there and then that they’re just like a social smoker but with meat consumption, which is absolutely a better option than the smoking thing (pointing no fingers @ twitter user rositabustiiios)


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we get two wayhaught dates for the price of one, because it is christmas after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! 
> 
> so this chapter concludes this fic - i hope you all find it to be an enjoyable conclusion! like last time, this end chapter is a bit shorter piece than past chapters, just a way to tie everything up, show that date that everyone seemed to want to see, and hopefully give these two another fic conclusion that everyone will hopefully be happy with.
> 
> for the final time in this fic, i hope you all enjoy what i've written and there's more to follow in the notes at the end.

Dimly, a part of Nicole wonders if, maybe, she should be at least slightly nervous.

Given that she is pretty smitten by Waverly, and kind of over the moon with the new turn in their relationship, her nerves are pretty conspicuous by their absence.

There should perhaps, at least, be a part of her which feels apprehensive, which compels her to feel a need to bring her game face to an afternoon coffee date. However, in all honesty, Nicole has never felt more at ease about a first date.

Partly, the serenity comes from the fact that, yes, this does feel new, but at the same time it really, really doesn’t. She and Waverly have spent time together many times before, albeit not outside of work but that detail seems more than a little insignificant.

More importantly, things with Waverly have never felt anything but easy, and there is no reason in Nicole’s mind why today should be any different.

(And, well,if she puts slightly more thought into her jeans and forest green high neck sweater combo than normal, then it just feels nice to have a reason to make an effort.)

But while Nicole feels pretty confident, there is no real way of telling if Waverly feels the same. Granted, her late-morning texts sound as cheerful and effervescent as ever as Nicole reads them, sat at the kitchen table with an enormous cup of tea. Nonetheless there may be an echo of doubt present too...

[Waverly Earp, 11:39] good morning! i hope you slept really really well (i know i did)  
[Waverly Earp, 11:39] just wanted to check you’re still up for meeting later  
[Nicole Haught, 11:42] Morning :D honestly? I slept like the dead  
[Nicole Haught, 11:43] It was amazing  
[Nicole Haught, 11:43] Still very much up for meeting later  
[Nicole Haught, 11:45] If you are?

Waverly seems to be waiting for a response because her own messages come back quickfire, with almost no delay to speak of.

[Waverly Earp, 11:45] omg yes ofc!! really looking forward to it  
[Waverly Earp, 11:46] (glad you slept well, i can relate thankfully)  
[Nicole Haught, 11:47] About the sleep: I’m glad to hear it  
[Nicole Haught, 11:48] And I’m looking forward to later too  
[Waverly Earp, 11:49] so i’ll see you at 2 yeah?  
[Nicole Haught, 11:49] I’ll be there at 2pm sharp  
[Waverly Earp, 11:51] you’d better not stand me up  
[Nicole Haught, 11:51] OMG like it’d ever cross my mind  
[Waverly Earp, 11:52] good because i’d cry you know

Waverly ends the conversation with a series of heart and kiss emojis which Nicole returns in slightly fewer numbers but with no less enthusiasm.

The conversation peters out from there and, when she sets her phone down, she catches Jeremy watching her from across the room, where he is cooking a late breakfast for himself.

He looks between Nicole’s face to her phone and back again, his expression one of suspicion.

“Anything you want to share?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

Nicole, by comparison, schools her features into as neutral an expression as possible.

“Not particularly, no.”

Jeremy pouts. “You’re no fun at all.”  

Nicole ignores him, and he goes back to his cooking. After a while he drifts to the fridge and sifts through it, retreating with an armful of extra ingredients.

“Nature documentaries this afternoon?” he asks, his tone a little too casual to Nicole’s ears.

She suppresses a glower - he is clearly fishing to find out whether she is going out today.

“I can’t, sorry,” she tells him evasively and Jeremy frowns when she does not elucidate.

“You know, you really are _absolutely_ no fun these days.”

 

 

 

 

 

 _‘I’ll be there at 2pm sharp_ ’ Nicole had said, but when it comes down to it she’d made a false promise, because she manages to turn up to the cafe late, which creates a less than desirable start to the afternoon.

In fairness, she is not particularly behind schedule by the time she runs two blocks to get to the shop, but she prides herself on her time-keeping and has absolutely never been late in as long as Waverly has known her so, there’s that.

This all comes about thanks to a delay on the subway line she is using, because of course that’s absolutely how things play out. She finds herself stuck below ground in a cramped and fragrant compartment, filled with shoppers trying to use their limited free time to find holiday gifts. No one is particularly amused to be stranded, including Nicole who can’t even hold onto enough signal to send a text.

By the time she emerges back to street level, she concludes that her time would be just as wisely spent in actually getting to the cafe, rather than pausing to send an explanation and delaying herself further.

When Nicole does eventually arrive, Waverly is already there. She is tucked into an isolated little corner; an out of the way table squeezed by a window. There are two mugs in front of her, and she is fiddling on her phone - presumably for something to do.

“Hey, sorry. I’m so sorry,” Nicole announces herself immediately, quickly trying to shrug out of her coat as though the extra haste now will make the blindest bit of difference.

Waverly’s eyes dart up quickly and she shunts her phone aside without hesitation, an almost unreadable look quickly passing over her face. Nicole thinks it might be relief, and her heart jerks in her chest at the thought that Waverly might really be getting caught up in knots over this afternoon.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Waverly replies. “I ordered - sorry, I don’t know if I should have presumed.”

Nicole glances at the cup of coffee that is clearly intended for her. “It looks perfect to me. Thanks, I’ll get the next ones.”

“You don’t have to,” Waverly says with a small smile. “I said it was my treat.”

“I’ll fight you for that later,” Nicole jokes before hurrying to explain her tardiness.

“The subway broke down and I didn’t have any signal,” she says as she squeezes into her seat. The table really has been crammed into a little alcove and there isn’t a lot of space.

Her knees bump immediately against Waverly’s beneath the table. Neither of them hurries to back away. 

“It’s okay, I figured something must have happened. It’s dumb that I’d even worry you weren’t gonna come.” Waverly gives an embarrassed laugh, not quite meeting Nicole’s eye. “We were texting this morning, and I know you better than that. But still. It’s programming I guess.”

Nicole sends Waverly an inquisitive look.

“My ex. He was a no show on more than one occasion, even we'd been dating a pretty long time.”

“Huh,” Nicole replies with a frown. “He sounds like a shithead. No offence.”

Waverly smiles knowingly, her expression self-deprecating as she runs a finger around the rim of her mug.

“None taken.”

“Anyway, there was a zero chance of me not being here, so you don’t have to worry. Promise.”

Waverly smiles again, more confident this time. “Sorry, bit of a downer for the start of, you know…”

“Our date?” Nicole says with a smile, happy to be the one to put it out there if that is what Waverly needs. She reaches briefly across the table and squeezes Waverly’s fingers quickly. “Don’t worry, I’m happy so long as it’s us together.”

“Me too,” Waverly tells her quietly, her voice firm and full of steely resolve.

“Besides, I did kind of figure we’d talk about... _things_ this afternoon. You know, eventually.”

Waverly drifts the soft pad of her index over the back of Nicole’s hand where she’d left it resting on the table. For a moment she draws an aimless pattern in silence.

“‘Eventually’ sounds good.” 

Nicole grins and immediately lets the conversation drift elsewhere. 

Mostly, they get their own back on Dolls (even if Waverly doesn’t know about _that_ particular development to begin with) by speculating on how he and Wynonna passed the day yesterday. Nicole observes, as innocently as possible that the two of them seem to be getting on remarkably well.

“Yeah I don’t really know exactly what the  _ deal _ is,” Waverly agrees, “because Wynonna’s being weirdly roundabout and evasive which is so not her.” She pauses, then waves her hand around in some strange gesticulation that Nicole is used to by now.

“I mean yes, it’s been a while since we’ve really connected like this and discussed something remotely in this area, but I’m used to her being almost terrifyingly upfront about most things. As in, when we were teenagers I knew  _ way _ too much about who she was into and to what, you know,  _ degree  _ of physicality she was either interested or involved with them.”

Waverly breaks off and laughs slightly at the memories. 

“Now it’s easier, of course. We’re both older - it’s not weird now for my big sister to tell me this stuff. Well. Not  _ as _ weird. Wynonna is still extremely candid in that respect.” 

Nicole nods. Some things between family take time to not be awkward - she gets it. Or at least, she would, if she’d had half a chance to stay that connected to her own sister.  

Nicole nods. Some things between family take time to not be awkward - she gets it. Or at least, she would, if she’d had half a chance to stay that connected to her own sister.  

Nicole thinks for a moment. 

“I mean, the three of us - me, Jeremy, and Dolls that is - have been kind of serially single for a while. I guess I don’t  _ really _ know Dolls’ signs or anything. I think there’s something there though, even if they’re just gonna...you know, hook up or whatever.” 

“Yeah, seems plausible,” Waverly says, taking a sip of her enormous latte. “Wynonna doesn’t really do anything more traditional than that anyway.”

“To be fair, I don’t actually know if Dolls does either.”

Waverly considers this information. “Interesting. Oh well, guess I’ll leave her to figure that one out on her own. Unless she decides to talk to me about it - I’d be kind of a hypocrite otherwise. See, Wynonna’s kind of got this lone wolf thing going on, but the cat will come out of the bag eventually.”

“Yeah, I’d noticed the ‘vigorously independent’ vibe.”

In a rapid change of tone, Waverly sighs and glances down into her mug, although she doesn’t really seem to see the dregs of her drink.

“Actually, I think that’s just an ‘Earp’ thing, but Wynonna does lean back on it a lot. We have needed to be independent really, it hit Wynonna a lot harder though. There’s uh, stuff that - well, details to the story about our dad particularly that...I didn’t actually say it all, basically. You know, the other day? It’s...it’s really messed up. I didn’t want you to run away in total horror.”  

Nicole reaches for Waverly’s hand again, doesn’t let go quite so quickly this time. She waits for Waverly to determine how long is comfortable for her in public, but she doesn’t move her hand away.

“Hey, it’s fine okay? Whatever it is, you don’t have to worry about it in that sense, I’m definitely  _ not _ going to run away, trust me. That’s the total opposite to what I wanna do.”

Waverly tips her a tight, half smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Nicole asks, not really prepared for the conversation to go in this direction, but happy to listen nonetheless.

Waverly shakes her head. “Some other time maybe?”

“Of course,” Nicole says, making her voice as gentle and open as possible.

They have lots of that to come, lots of sharing, because they both have closets full of skeletons just bursting to be let out. But the point of where they’re heading - or where Nicole thinks they’re heading - is the knowledge that they can reveal those skeletons if and when the time is right. 

Today can be just the start, if it goes well and it’s what they both want.

(Nicole already knows it is what she wants.)

She is half-tempted to tell Waverly that they don’t need to have any more heavy talks today, but she can sense from the tense line in Waverly’s shoulders that she _needs_ to speak about something else.

So Nicole lets Waverly speak, aware that even if they’d both intended this afternoon to be lighter and more breezy, things like this are always mutable.

“I didn’t mention anything to Wynonna about yesterday,” Waverly adds, vaguely going back to their prior conversation about her sister. She sounds almost apologetic as she goes on.

“I wanted to though, I was so excited,” she says, looking bashful at the admission, even though it makes Nicole’s heart jump. “I think she knew something was up though because I didn’t stop grinning.”

“Yeah, I’m just going to level with you - Dolls guessed. For the same reasons.” Nicole bites her lip, reconsidering her statement. “Well, partly those reasons.”

Silently, Nicole gauges Waverly’s reaction to this news.

“ _ What _ ?” Waverly raises both her eyebrows comically, but she doesn’t look particularly worried, more confused as to where they’d slipped up. “How the  _ hell _ ? We were so chill about it!”

Nicole explains everything.

“I can’t believe trying too hard to keep it quiet was our downfall,” Waverly says, chuckling to herself.

“I know! I thought we were being really smooth too.”

They both laugh and Waverly shifts in her seat, brushing their legs even closer together. She leans forward and takes a breath, evidently readying herself to say something significant.

“I will say that I find it awkward that _he_ saw it right away, and I didn’t even know I had a crush on you until embarrassingly recently,” Waverly admits quietly, finally launching into the conversation that has been beckoning to them for nearly twenty-four hours.

“Is that bad?” Waverly asks, more rhetorically than directly to Nicole herself. “Or kind of dumb? I just found myself seeking out a reason to come say ‘hi’ by leaving you coffee or food and I didn’t even realise what I was doing.”

Nicole laughs. “Yeah I’ve been there.”

Waverly cocks her head to one side, looking inquisitive. “But…”

She doesn’t say anything more, but Nicole gets it.

“Yeah of course, it’s all more or less worked out up here _now_ ,” Nicole taps the side of her head. “But I had a good number of ‘friend crushes’,” she adds the air quotes and emphasises the words pointedly, “on girls in school before I had the _eureka_ moment.”

Waverly’s eyes go distant for a moment, evidently remembering something.

“Oh,” she says in a tiny voice. “Yeah that...that totally makes sense too actually. Shit.”

Nicole smiles gently.

“All good?” she asks softly.

“Do you think I’ve been dumb, not realising for this long?” Waverly forces levity into her voice, but it is very clear from her face that she has a lot resting on Nicole’s next response.

“No. Not even slightly,” Nicole replies seriously, reaching out and hooking a finger under Waverly’s chin, urging her gaze upwards so that they are looking each other in the eye. “It’s okay, you know? Just doing things in your own way. There’s no script for this. Well, there isn't one for life in general I guess.

“God, that sounds cheesy - sorry,” she adds, shaking her head to herself. “I just mean: there isn’t a timeline for working stuff out about yourself. I didn’t do it right by coming out at fifteen and you didn’t do it wrong by considering this stuff in your twenties. Or vice versa. It's all okay, honestly.”

Her words aren't quite as eloquent as Nicole would have liked, and they aren’t even close to everything that she wants to say on the subject. Nonetheless, she thinks that this is what Waverly needs to hear and, right now, that is all that matters to Nicole.

Immediately, some of the worry comes off of Waverly's face and she gives a ghost of a smile.

“Thanks,” she whispers, sounding choked up and Nicole shakes her head quickly.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, you did,” Waverly insists, dancing her fingers lightly over the back of Nicole’s hand before Nicole moves it back down to the table. “Hey, fifteen? That’s young,” she says, changing the subject before wincing. “Sorry - I don’t know if it’s okay for me to - I don’t want to pry.”

“No, it’s okay. More than okay.” Nicole says and although she is being truthful, she still hesitates, unsure about how to continue. The story isn’t an entirely happy one, and she isn’t sure if it’s really the right time to get into it. Today is about Waverly, after all.

Eventually, Nicole settles on starting off with the nicer part of her early coming out experiences.

“I was about fourteen, I think, when I started realising, more and more, that I liked girls, but I think the idea really settled and made sense after a few months. I told the first person a little while after my fifteenth birthday.”

Waverly looks at her, but doesn’t ask the question. 

Nicole answers it anyway.

“One of my best friends at the time. He was always kind, plus I think I’d always maybe wondered if he was straight or not. Turns out he was, or at least he never told me if he wasn’t, but he was perfect throughout the whole thing. I cried, which was odd because I wasn’t upset about being gay at all. I guess it was just nerves about putting it out there for the first time.

“But he just went and got me some tissues, and then he told me nothing had changed and I didn’t have to worry. That was nice, really, because he was right - nothing  _ had _ changed. Except, I guess, I was a little more confident in myself after that.” 

Nicole smiles wryly and adds a sarcastic afterthought. “Totally weird how not denying a huge part of yourself any longer will do that to you.”

“Go figure,” Waverly agrees just as sardonically, but she seems thoughtful and slightly absent too. Nicole isn’t entirely sure if she should keep talking but decides to carry on anyway, trying to give Waverly some silent thinking space. 

“I guess the funny part is that I didn’t tell my other close friend until a little while after and she turned out to be the one who also wasn’t straight.” Nicole shrugs. “We dated for a while about a year later, keeping it kind of lowkey obviously, but it really wasn’t right - it wasn’t even that we were young or anything; we just didn’t work as girlfriends.”

Waverly smiles. “You stayed friend friends though I hope?”

“With Shae? Yeah, we still talk even now - she’s in med school though, so not super often thanks to our schedules.”  

“A police officer and a doctor, now _that_ would have been a power couple,” Waverly jokes, drawing back from whatever thought process had been distracting her.

“Oh, I don’t know. Curator and police officer sounds pretty powerful to me,” Nicole says, the comment completely off the cuff. Immediately, however, she realises her mistake (the second one in two days) and blushes a deep, deep red. “Shoot, I’m sorry. That just came out - I didn’t mean it like, well actually I don’t know what I was getting at. I don’t want to put any pressure on you.”

“You haven’t,” Waverly assures her. “I mean, it’d be cool to take things steady but,” she ducks her head and draws her bottom lip under her teeth, “I really, really like that you’re thinking along those lines.”

Nicole feels a smile spread over her cheeks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Waverly tells her, matching smile on her own face. “I mean, I am too. It’s super soon but we’ve known each other long enough for me to just, have that feeling I think? I guess I’m just still getting my head around a few things first though." Waverly looks slightly panicked at that admission. "Shit, does that sound bad?”

“Not even close. Honestly? I’d be more surprised if you weren’t prioritising that stuff. It’s just that, well, all I really want for myself is to know that you’ll tell me if there’s anything I can do to make it all easier.”

“Oh trust me, you’re already making it easy.” Waverly gives Nicole a deep look from beneath her lashes, a look that Nicole feels in her toes. “Too easy, you could argue.”

Nicole laughs brightly at the comment, happy at the joke but also flattered at the inherent compliment within.

“I figure we just see how things go, and you set the pace you need. Does that sound okay?”

Waverly bites her lip. “But that doesn’t seem very fair or even. I think that’s the main thing I’m worrying about. That me figuring things out is almost going to take over. I can tell you’re pretty good at putting others’ needs first. You don’t need to do that for me, you know.”

At this, a mysterious lump forms in the back of Nicole’s throat. It is a relatively foreign notion to her, having someone worry about Nicole putting herself second.

Waverly sees the emotion on Nicole’s face and quickly dives in to fill the silence.

“See? I’m worried I’m gonna mess up as I work this all out. Plus my ex just wasn’t a good partner. The relationship wasn’t that...I guess the word would be functional? Maybe? I don’t even really know what I’m doing in the most basic of senses.”

“Waves,” Nicole reaches for her hand yet again, “I don’t know how things worked with him, but something tells me they won’t work that way here. To tell you the truth I’m not worried about this, because I already know for a hundred percent we’re going to make mistakes. That’s just part of it - whether you’ve dated zero women before me or ten women before me. I’d rather just know what we can work through the mistakes and the fumbles as we go.”

Waverly smiles, lacing their fingers together one by one, their hands half-hidden from the other patrons by their empty cups and other items scattered around the table. 

“Thanks,” Waverly murmurs again, biting at her bottom lip to tone down the smile on her face. 

“Again, you’re welcome - but you don’t have to thank me.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But I’m going to anyway,” Waverly says, making to stand before Nicole can reply. “ _And_ , I’m going to get us more drinks before you can offer to pay again.”

Nicole feigns exasperation but does not press the matter - there will be plenty of opportunities for Nicole to pay for days out. Moreover she senses that, on some unspeakable level, Waverly needs it to happen like this. 

Nicole understands it, she thinks, Waverly’s need to initiate this first date and to have the flow of it drift through her hands, rather than Nicole’s. 

So, she lets Waverly drift off to queue at the counter, catching her every time she turns back to sneak a coy glance at Nicole. Waverly’s neck colours slightly the first time she gets caught out, but she holds Nicole’s gaze boldly.

Every time their eyes meet and they smile, Nicole wonders if Waverly’s stomach knots in the same way when their eyes meet like that, both of their expressions burning like a forest fire.

Waverly returns eventually with a tray of drinks and a cake for them share.

“I was kind of peckish,” she explains with a shrug, “but not hungry enough for one of my own.”

Nicole accepts her drink and her own cutlery with a warm smile, and the silence that follows as they eat is the only instance in which their conversation ceases in all the time they occupy that tiny window table.

Nicole had been right in her thought process earlier that morning - things with Waverly had not ceased to be easy, simple, light...

The afternoon drifts on, and they thoroughly outstay their welcome in the cafe. Time simply passes, unnoticed, as they talk.

Conversation drifts from Waverly’s concerns and chatter about past relationships, it segues briefly into Nicole finally talking about her parents (Waverly holds her hand again as the story spreads out between them like spilled milk), and eventually moves onto lighter topics.

In the window beside them, outdoor lights gradually start flickering on as the gunmetal sky dims even further to black. Strings of Christmas lights come alive, lights from restaurant windows appear brighter in the fading daylight, and finally the two of them realise that they have occupied their space in the cafe for far too long.

Their second drinks have grown cooler, finished gradually in stolen moments between their words. In fact, they find time to sip their own drinks, mostly, in the time that they stop and listen, rapt, to the other speak.  

Neither really wants another drink, but the place is still bustling - now with people calling in after a few hours of post-lunchtime shopping - and they share a sense of guilt at holding the table any longer.

So, they shrug into coats and scarves, and Nicole yanks a dark grey beanie over her head. And yet when they finally make it outside, Waverly’s arm taking up its now customary place wound around Nicole’s, they both find that they don’t have the resolve to part just yet. 

They stroll around town for a while, content enough to check out the trees and festive displays in shop windows, but ultimately feeling much too cold to want to linger in the frosty early evening air for too long.

So they settle, last-minute, on catching a movie although neither of them are especially interested in what they see, so long as they are somewhere warm and can find a comfy seat beside each other. They book tickets for a mindless Christmas comedy that has been showing for weeks already, hazarding a silent bet that the theatre will be mostly empty, and they splurge on the fancy seats - although this is mostly Waverly’s idea.

“It’s Christmas,” she says with a shrug, pocketing the ticket stubs from the machine and leading them towards the food hall, both of them choosing out junk food they don’t particularly want, for the simple purpose that movies at the theatre almost always require popcorn or nachos.

Once they are seated, however, Nicole understands Waverly’s impulse for good seats a little better as she immediately lifts the armrest and wriggles into Nicole’s side. They are both still cold from the outdoors, and Waverly leaves her scarf on a longer little to warm up. The wool tickles Nicole’s cheek as they both settle in, Nicole draping her jacket over them for a bit of extra insulation.

The commercials seem to drag on forever, but by the time the lights dim only one other party of two has joined them, sitting completely on the other side of the enormous room and paying Nicole and Waverly no heed whatsoever.

With the lights completely down, Nicole can barely see their companions, and, given that they appear to be a couple too, they have as little interest in Nicole and Waverly as in reverse.

The movie is exactly as expected, dumb but actually kind of funny in places, with a group of decent (and appropriately cute for Hollywood) female leads. It’s straight enough to put Nicole off a little, but not so in-your-face that it distracts her from the warm weight of Waverly’s hand tucked over Nicole’s thigh, or the soft stroke of Waverly’s hair as it traces over Nicole’s skin every time Waverly moves around.

Then again, Nicole is pretty sure that World War III itself couldn’t distract her when Waverly angles her head, foregoing altogether any pretence of watching the movie, and starts dropping tiny, closed-mouth kisses to the soft skin of Nicole’s throat.

Nicole sighs a little, although it comes out more like a shudder that drifts through her whole body, and Waverly’s hand grips Nicole’s leg a little bit tighter for a moment in response.

It takes until the movie is two thirds over before Waverly lets her lips even come close to brushing Nicole’s, her kisses travelling leisurely from Nicole’s throat to her jaw to her cheek before finally,  _ finally _ ghosting the very corner of her mouth. 

Nicole is aware that it would only take the merest turn of her head to bring their lips together, but she is even _more_ aware that they are not alone in the theatre and there is always the question of safety to adhere to.

She chances a glance all the way across the room, squinting to check on their fellow movie-goers. They are so far away it is hard to make much out, but happily the scene on-screen brightens to a snowy wonderland shot, and the theatre is illuminated brightly for a moment.

Nicole checks again and sees that the other pair are...both slumped over with their eyes tightly shut, completely asleep.

She chuckles to herself and nudges Waverly who smiles too when she sees them.

“I’ve been there,” she murmurs and Nicole nods.

“Yeah me too.”

“Not right now though,” Waverly adds, tone rather pointed as she resumes her position pressed neatly against Nicole.

“No?”

“Nope, I’m feel pretty _enthralled_ right now.”

Nicole smiles to herself before replying.

“Yeah I hear you. I’m pretty sure she’s about to hook up with that dude from the Christmas market right now. Does it get any more exciting, really?”

Waverly groans and thumps her hand against Nicole’s arm.

“I’m _trying_ to be smooth here you ass.”

Nicole snorts quietly to herself.  

“And your efforts are much appreciated,” she says soothingly, finally dipping her head down for a quick kiss.

Waverly, however, seems in no mood to to keep things short and sweet, and instead locks Nicole in place with a hand at the back of her head (not that Nicole needs much convincing to stay put).

It would be easy to push things out of the region of ‘chaste’ and Waverly seems more than happy to do so (a fact which Nicole eagerly notes down for later), but there is some level of propriety to be maintained, even if Nicole would love to get carried away in the haze of ‘new relationship’.

Even as she acknowledges this, though, she understands that the giddiness she feels is more than just a honeymoon period high.

This is more like unbridled joy at the feeling of true and deep connection, elation at the knowledge of feelings and intentions no longer unrequited.

It is out there now: she wants Waverly and she knows for certain, finally, that Waverly wants her too. Their cards are on the table, more so than on any other first date Nicole has ever experienced. This, she knows, has a lot to do with getting older, with ploughing on through this stage of her life and honing in on what she really wants.

She knows Waverly is there too, both from instinct and from past discussion. It is a time for being more honest, more upfront about who makes you happy, about what you want to pursue and what you finally wish to cast aside.

For Waverly, Nicole understands, one such thing to eschew is doubt; self-doubt and illusion above all. There comes a time when so much of it grows too heavy around your shoulders, and Nicole can feel the lightness in Waverly from the way she confidently wants to hold Nicole’s hand and kiss Nicole’s lips and bury her face into Nicole’s shoulder. 

And granted, Waverly’s confidence might be more external than internal right now but Nicole knows they’ll get there. 

Still, the quick connection with Waverly isn’t really down to anything quite so empirical as age, even if it all has helped them galvanise themselves at long last. It comes down to all the time they’ve already spent together in past months (sharing things and knowing with excitement that there is still much, much more left to share), and then it comes down to something else even more _a priori_ than that too.  

It is something invisible, something that has the roots of Nicole’s inner spirit joined inexorably, inexplicably to Waverly’s. It is a pull which makes Nicole, who has never believed in fate or predestination before, feel a certain sureness in the recesses of her bones, a conviction that she and Waverly would always have ended up together, somehow.

Of course, she looks at Waverly and feels excitement and breathlessness and all of the things a new relationship should make her feel. But she knows too that, one day, all those things will probably go away in time. 

It is the knowledge that Waverly _also_ feels like quiet contentment, like boring rainy days in bed and rushed, stressful evening dinners that makes Nicole completely certain that those ancient philosophers were right about how our souls start out as one complete entity. It is the complete feeling of Waverly as _home_ that keeps Nicole feeling steadfast, feeling grounded despite knowing that they have moved far and fast in a short space of time.  There is no way Nicole could even begin to worry about that, when the pull to simply enjoy the first few steps into what she, feels certain, will be their far future is so very strong.

So, she enjoys the wet warmth of Waverly’s mouth on hers, enjoys the insistent press of Waverly’s chest into her side as they try to get closer, she enjoys the soft skin of Waverly’s hands as they move to cup her face.

She enjoys it all until the credits roll and they draw apart before the lights come on again, both sharing furtive, slightly bashful looks as they try to look as though they’d merely been demurely enjoying the movie the entire time.

Nicole chances another glance at their unknown companions, both roused from sleep by the glare of the overhead lights. She can’t help but feel slightly relieved to have conclusive evidence that they hadn’t been seen. Judging by the slight glow on Waverly’s cheeks, Nicole is not alone in this.

They watch as the other couple, probably in their mid-thirties and clearly totally at ease with one another, share a look and a word or two, laughing at their costly and unintentional naptime.  

Nicole and Waverly share a glance of their own, one of longing, of intention, of raw _promise_.

They have no desire to rush home so they wait for the pair to leave and dawdle behind them. They stop by at one of the many, pristine restrooms and find it deserted. This gives them opportunity to share a kiss by the sinks, both of them smelling of complementary pomegranate soap. Accidentally, they set off the hand-driers in the process and jump apart, laughing in shock and amusement. 

When they get outside, they find that the streets aren’t busy enough for Nicole to risk taking Waverly’s hand, but she lets their fingers brush together a few times as they walk.

Reluctant to part, they bat around a few ideas for dinner, but ulstimately they both feel pretty stuffed from their theatre snacks. What’s more, Waverly has promised her aunt an evening video call from both of her nieces at once, so she can’t afford to stay out much longer regardless. 

The two of them are both due back at the museum bright and early the next morning, so they hardly have much of an excuse to linger, except for sharing a moment of sentimentality and big doe eyes. 

These are the precise reasons that they do then play for time, Waverly opting for the bus over the subway on the basis that, even if it takes slightly longer, it is a direct route. 

Nicole offers to wait with her, and although Waverly feebly tries to refuse, she doesn’t put up much of a fight. The bus before Waverly’s clears the rest of the passengers out of the shelter and they wait alone, Waverly tapping her toes against the cold.

“So,” she begins, voice unsure as she fails to continue.

“So,” Nicole echoes.

“As first dates go…”

“Pretty darned amazing?” Nicole supplies for her.

Waverly looks relieved and it almost makes Nicole laugh. 

She rather thought it was clear that she had enjoyed herself, particularly the part where they were joined at the lips for a solid twenty plus minutes.

“The best,” Waverly concurs. 

In the distance, they both spy Waverly’s bus, queued up at the traffic lights.

“I would say I’d call you,” Nicole begins, “but since I’ll be seeing you tomorrow I’d rather talk to you face to face instead.”

Waverly giggles lightly.

“I do prefer that plan, work commitments aside.”

Nicole nods solemnly. “It does seem a shame that we have to be professional and _not_ totally give the game away in front of every member of staff there, as well as random paying customers.”

“I mean, my office _did_ have a functioning door the last time I checked, so I’m pretty sure we’re gonna be alright on that front.”

Nicole’s brain stalls slightly at that, at the implication laden heavily in Waverly’s words. Waverly notices and offers up a tiny, satisfied half-smile.

“I’m glad you’re letting me have the upper hand occasionally,” she jokes at Nicole’s silence, but Nicole is too proud to let it last for long.

Leaning in, she whispers in Waverly's ear. “I’ll let you have the upper hand whenever you want, if you keep coming on dates with me.”

Waverly takes her own turn to search for an appropriate comeback. In the end, with her bus fast approaching, she opts for simple honesty instead.

“I can definitely confirm that I want to keep coming on dates with you. I wouldn’t leave this one if I didn’t have to.”

She stands, searching for her travel pass in one of about ten different pockets on her coat.

Nicole also rises, keeping one eye on the bus as the traffic before it moves mercifully slowly.

“I’m sure your aunt is going to be so happy to hear from you both. Plus you can text me after, if you like.”

“I will,” Waverly agrees, finally locating her pass.  

As one, they both check around them for prying eyes and, satisfied that they are mostly obscured by the dark and by posters pasted onto the sides of the shelter, they gravitate together for one final time that day.

They share a parting kiss that is much too short, and, somewhat regretfully, Nicole sees Waverly onto the bus as it pulls up at the kerb.

Nicole waves at the retreating bus, standing and thinking for a moment before turning on her heel and heading in the direction of the subway. 

She lets her feet take her in the right direction, observing very little around her as she loses herself in thought. It has been a long time since she’d felt this contented and free. 

_ Things _ , she thinks to herself,  _ are finally where they ought to be _ .

Her training was going well, her job was stable, and Waverly was - well -  _ Waverly _ ; sheets of summer rain sluicing down overheated skin, a kind word on a rough day, floral prints, fishtail braids... 

It had taken a while, sure, but maybe -  _ just maybe _ \- this time, Nicole Haught really was about to start living the dream.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, that's all until next time! i really hope you've enjoyed reading this story, i was super nervous posting this after my last fic because i didn't want to disappoint or let anyone (the characters included) down!! 
> 
> this fic came about because i asked, at the end of 'wings', whether there was anything anyone would want me to write. i can't always promise i'll pick up anything from requests, but if something catches my imagination i'll probably end up writing 55k or something. so drop that kind of stuff in the comments too, or hmu on twitter at rositabustiiios. 
> 
> i would like to give a huge shoutout to laura and hayley for boosting my ego via indirect conversations on twitter. i don't always feel especially confident in what i put out there, but with cheerleaders like you (and liz and anja too) i feel a little bit better about my writing every day. 
> 
> but also, importantly, equal thanks goes to everyone who's taken the time to read this, leave kudos, and/or a review. as ever, reading your feedback has really blown me away and i'm always more appreciative than i can say to those of you who give me reviews and tell me all your thoughts at length. you guys seriously rock. 
> 
> so, that really is all for now until i'm back with a genuinely embarrassing mummy au, and probably more oneshots for my new 'gingerbread' collection. until then, much love to all. maybe see you guys next time!

**Author's Note:**

> you see? i really wasn’t kidding on the similarities front. in fact, you may (or, more likely, may not) be wondering if i actually ever write anything else outside of this kind of stuff. well, the answer is that i also write almost novella-length mashups between our favourite demon-hunting crew and the cinematic masterpieces known as the mummy (1999) and the mummy returns (2001). effectively, we’re talking archaeologist!waverly and ex-soldier!nicole teaming up to unearth ancient egyptian treasure and yknow, fight the undead forces of evil with the help of some preeetty familiar faces.
> 
> i remain convinced that this utter travesty to popular culture should never see the light of day, not least because i doubt anyone will want to read it, but i will probably edit and upload it nonetheless, if no other reason than that it took me a long ass time to write. any indication if that would, ahem, be your thing would also be helpful.
> 
> in the meantime, however, please feel free to hmu with a comment if you feel so inclined. feedback is always welcome, since it stops my self-doubting ass from wondering if i should even bother writing anymore for at least, well, 0.02 seconds. so yeah, please leave a review if you can – here is ideal, but i am also contactable constantly on twitter @[rositabustiIIos](https://www.twitter.com/rositabustiiios) (was @angiemartineIIi – god bless those uppercase ‘i’s looking like lowercase ‘l’s) or very rarely on tumblr which is now [birositabustillos](http://www.birositabustillos.tumblr.com) (god bless canon confirmation of my love’s sexuality). also if i have any character biases, i’m pretty sure i’m hiding at least one (1) really, really well. 
> 
> anyway, until next time - take care, and thank you for reading!


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